


Broken Like Me

by Crown_of_Laurels



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Bondage, Dom Victor Nikiforov, Explicit Sexual Content, Kneeling, M/M, Orgasm Control, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Potential dubious consent, Slow Build, Sub Katsuki Yuuri, Subdrop, Subspace, as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-08-16 21:12:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16502789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crown_of_Laurels/pseuds/Crown_of_Laurels
Summary: Canon-Divergent, BDSM AU. Victor’s a dom. Yuuri’s a sub who can’t fall into subspace. Yuuri’s Sochi bathroom breakdown happens right before the Sochi GPF free skate because he goes into subspace withdrawal and Victor is the one who finds him.---------“Victor Nikiforov was touching him. It was… confusing. Yuuri didn’t think simple touches were supposed to feel like this. Because the moment Victor had gently laid his hand against Yuuri’s forehead, something had settled in him. His anxiety and embarrassment had receded. His nausea had faded and his pulse had slowed. Tension bled out of Yuuri’s frame as he stared at Victor. Maybe if he stayed still and quiet Victor would keep touching him forever.”





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been in love with this pairing since watching YOI, but this is my first attempt at writing Victor/Yuuri! I’ve only ever written for one other pairing before, so this is all very new and exciting for me!! If you want to to get in touch, feel free to email me at lelantusfics@gmail.com.
> 
> For anyone not familiar with it, a BDSM AU is similar to an ABO AU. All people have an alignment as either a Dom, Sub, Switch, or Non-Identifying. Similar to the ABO concept of heats and ruts, in my BDSM AU doms, subs, and switches need to regularly scene in order to stay healthy. Feel free to comment with questions if you have them!
> 
> Potential Warnings: While I will try my best to adhere to the standard of safe, sane, and consensual, there will likely be some scenes were consent is blurry/not 100% clearly given as Victor and Yuuri muddle their way through figuring out their relationship and dynamic (and make mistakes). Additionally, I will be adding tags/kinks as I write. I’ll be sure warn at the beginning of chapters when I introduce anything new.

**Sochi GPF, December 8th.  
Four hours before the Men’s Free Skate.**

Yuuri was finishing practice when he felt it. As he came out of a spin, his stomach roiled. Yuuri’s vision - already blurry without his glasses - swam even further and the ice in front of him seemed to tilt. One, two strides and Yuuri was at the edge of the rink. He gripped the wall and closed his eyes, desperately trying to bring his rising nausea and dizziness under control.

_No, please, no_ , Yuuri thought.

This couldn’t be happening. Not here. Not now. Not after everything Yuuri had done to scratch and claw his way to the GPF final. Not when Yuuri was in fourth place, within spitting distance of medaling and finally sharing a podium with Victor Nikiforov.

But Yuuri’s heart rate, already elevated from practice, refused to calm. It pounded in his ears, a deafening drum. It was hard to breathe. His chest throbbed and the pain radiated through his body in waves, making his muscles twitch and cramp. His legs trembled, threatening to crumple beneath him, and Yuuri knew he had to get off the ice. Right now.

Somehow, Yuuri made it to the gate and staggered onto solid ground. He ripped off his skates and made his way into the locker room where he collapsed onto a bench and pulled his backpack towards him. With shaking hands, Yuuri dug through its contents, frantically searching until his fingers closed around a pill bottle.

Just then, a loud laugh boomed out, followed by muted conversation in what sounded like French. Yuuri jerked, startled. He had forgotten he wasn’t alone. The locker room wasn’t a private space. Of course there were other skaters here.

His stomach clenched and twisted, prompting Yuuri to rise unsteadily to his feet and shove the pill bottle into his pocket. He had to get out of here.

Still glasses-less and in socked feet, Yuuri threw open the door of the locker room. As he stepped outside, Yuuri saw a flash of silver out of the corner of his eye. Yuuri turned his head, briefly noting the blurry shape of Victor leaning against a wall and talking to someone who might have been Christophe Giacometti before the locker room door swung closed.

Yuuri prayed neither skater had noticed him. The last thing he needed was someone to see him like this.

Yuuri ran down one back hallway and then another until he found what he was looking for - an out-of-the-way bathroom. He stumbled inside and, seeing that the row of red stalls was empty, breathed a sigh of relief. Then, another wave of dizziness and nausea rolled through him, leaving him weak and shaking. Yuuri gripped the edge of the sink counter in his bid to stay upright. This was bad. It was one of the worst bouts of spacing sickness that Yuuri had experienced in years.

Yuuri closed his eyes, struggling to bring himself under control, but he knew he was  merely putting off the inevitable. There were only two ways to stop the symptoms of spacing sickness - let a dom put him in subspace or take ASIMs (Artificial Subspace Induction Medication). Since Yuuri was incapable of doing the former, it would have to be the later. And Yuuri had to do something. He couldn’t skate like this, experiencing what was essentially subspace withdrawal; his entire body rebelling because of his idiotic brain chemistry.

Yuuri opened his eyes. His reflection stared back at him. He looked terrible. His hair was disheveled and his skin was deathly pale and covered with a sheen of sweat. His eyes were wide and his pupils were unnaturally dilated, swallowing the brown of his iris. Suddenly, Yuuri was furious.

He hated this. Yuuri hated that he had been born a sub and couldn’t go longer than a month without needing the balance of going into subspace. He hated that the ASIMs he used to stabilize his hormones and neurotransmitters had side effects (such as dizziness and vertigo) that meant he could never take them in the weeks leading up to competitions. If he did, he would risk catastrophic mistakes and injuries. And most of all, Yuuri hated that he had to rely on ASIMs in the first place. Because no matter how many times Yuuri scened - with different doms in different situations - he could never fall into subspace.

It was unnatural. Shameful. It was Yuuri’s darkest, most embarrassing secret - one that only a handful of people knew. Yuuri had never heard of another sub who couldn’t enter subspace. After all, it was what subs were biologically designed to do. Yuuri had spent years trying, had seen countless doctors and sub-biology specialists, and he still couldn’t do it. Yuuri couldn’t enter subspace and he couldn’t scene. It meant he would never have a real relationship and he would never bond. It meant Yuuri relied entirely on ASIMs to control his brain and body chemistry, a risky course of action for an athlete whose sport depended on grace on balance.

Yuuri had taken his last dose of ASIMs 10 days ago.

It had taken him years to work out the exact timing of when to take the medication - long enough before a competition that the side effects were minimal, but close enough that Yuuri wouldn’t have a bout of spacing sickness. He should have been fine. Yuuri should have been able to make through the Grand Prix without risking taking another dose of ASIMs. But clearly today, the day of the most important competition of Yuuri’s life, fate had decided to screw him over.

Yuuri would have to take the ASIMs and the side effects - muscle relaxation, dizziness and vertigo - were always strongest within the first 12 hours. There was no chance Yuuri would be able to skate a clean program a mere four hours after taking a dose. Yuuri knew from experience. He had been forced to do it quite a few times in the years where he had still been figuring his medication schedule and, more often than not, taking ASIMs close to a competition had led to Yuuri falling out of jumps or losing the rhythm of his skate altogether. Several times, it had even resulted in his injury. Yuuri was convinced that his subspace… _problem_ was a large part of why it had taken him so long to even reach the GPF final.

So yes, Yuuri was furious. He was a broken, worthless sub and because of that, he was about to be a broken, worthless figure skater. Yuuri’s eyes burned with angry, helpless tears. He wanted to leave, to disappear, to sink into the floor. How had he ever thought he was good and strong enough to be here? He was a joke. A fraud.

Yuuri ground the heels of his hands into his eyes before wiping away his tears. He couldn’t delay any longer. He pulled out the pill bottle and gripped the cap, twisting it open. But Yuuri’s hands trembled so badly that as soon as he had the bottle open, he jerked and the distinctive bright purple pills went flying, some skittering over the counter, but most falling to the floor.

Yuuri cursed under his breath and knelt to start picking up the pills.

Then, because Yuuri’s life was a _disaster_ , the door to the bathroom opened. Startled, Yuuri looked up and straight into the bright blue eyes of Victor Nikiforov.

Yuuri froze and so did Victor. The door slammed closed behind him and left a deafening silence in its wake. Victor’s gaze flicked from Yuuri’s tear-streaked face to the pills scattered on the floor to the empty pill bottle on the counter and then landed back to Yuuri. Victor’s eyes were wide as they took in the scene. His lips parted in surprise.

Yuuri wanted to die. _Of course_ it had to be Victor who found him like this. Victor, Yuuri’s idol and inspiration. Victor, the four-time World Champion. Victor, the perfect dom whose name was regularly linked in the press with beautiful and elegant subs. Victor, who judging by his shocked expression, knew exactly what the pills strewn across the bathroom were for.

_Oh god, oh god, oh god. Why?_ Yuuri thought. _Now_ _Victor KNOWS. He knows somethings wrong with me. He knows I’m weak and broken. Why else would I be about to take ASIMs before a competition? Oh god. He knows. I can’t do this._

Yuuri scrambled to his feet as panic and shame twisted through him, intensifying his nausea and the sending his already frantic heartbeat racing even faster. His gaze was still locked with Victor’s. Why wasn’t Victor leaving? He was just standing there, staring at Yuuri.

“Um-” stuttered Yuuri which was apparently enough to jolt Victor out of his stupor.

“Yuuri! Are you okay? Are you feeling sick?”

_Victor knows my name?_ Yuuri thought dazedly.

“Um-” Yuuri squeaked and then promptly forgot how to use words at all because Victor Nikiforov leaned forward and _pressed his palm_ to Yuuri’s forehead.

Victor Nikiforov was touching him. It was… confusing. Yuuri didn’t think simple touches were supposed to feel like this. Because the moment Victor had gently laid his hand against Yuuri’s forehead, something had settled in him. His anxiety and embarrassment had receded. His nausea had faded and his pulse had slowed. Tension bled out of Yuuri’s frame as he stared at Victor. Maybe if he stayed still and quiet Victor would keep touching him forever.

Victor was back to staring at Yuuri in silence, his eyes dark. Yuuri noticed Victor’s cheeks were turning pink. He was still touching Yuuri.

“Yuuri,” Victor said, “Do you need-” he paused and licked his lips.

Yuuri watched the motion avidly, his gaze falling to Victor’s soft, pink mouth.

“Do you need to scene, Yuuri?” Victor continued, his voice low and his eyes intent on Yuuri.

Yuuri knew he should say something. This was the moment to tell Victor that he couldn’t scene. It was his opportunity to tell Victor to leave so Yuuri could take his medication in peace and then go withdraw from today’s free skate. But Yuuri knew if he said any of this to Victor, Victor would stop touching him, an outcome that seemed unacceptable to Yuuri at the moment.

So instead, Yuuri nodded.

“Ok,” Victor said. “Ok. Tell me if you need me to stop and I will.”

Yuuri nodded again. He wanted this so badly he ached.

Victor smiled, pleased. “Good,” he said and the hand that had been cupping Yuuri’s forehead moved, fingers carding through Yuuri’s hair and scratching against his scalp.

Yuuri’s eyes fluttered closed and he couldn’t help the little sound of pleasure that escaped him.

Then, Victor’s hand gripped his hair and tugged.

The small spark of pain reverberated through him, sending pleasant shivers down his spine and Yuuri’s eyes flew back open.

Victor’s hand resumed it’s stroking through Yuuri’s hair and Victor murmured, “Hands behind your back, Yuuri.”

Yuuri complied, clasping his hands together.

“Good,” Victor said again and Yuuri felt Victor’s approval warm and bright inside him.

“Now kneel for me,” Victor commanded, his hand tugging sharp in Yuuri’s hair once again before gripping the back of Yuuri’s neck and applying a delicious, grounding pressure.

For the first time in his life, Yuuri sank to his knees in a fluid and graceful motion.

“Lovely,” said Victor with another tug to Yuuri’s hair and Yuuri ached into his grip with a gasp, chasing the resultant flickering fires of sensation.

Victor’s fingers started carded through Yuuri’s hair once more and it felt blissful. The gentle scratch of Victor’s touch melded with the ache in Yuuri’s knees from the hard tile floor and the pull in his shoulders and back as he kept his arms clasped and Yuuri’s thoughts shut down. All that mattered was the weight of Victor’s touch and the approval in his voice.

It was elating, not having to think and not having to worry. All Yuuri had to do was float and feel and be good for Victor. Yuuri had never felt this way before - safe, whole, happy. It was intoxicating.

“You’re doing so well for me Yuuri,” Victor said and Yuuri tilted his head to look at him.

The motion felt slow and languid and when at last their gazes collided, Yuuri felt a bright spark of connection within him.

“Victor,” Yuuri said, because it felt important to say it. The shape of Victor’s name in his mouth felt good and right.

Victor smiled his beautiful heart-shaped smile and Yuuri smiled back.

Victor’s fingers trailed across Yuuri’s face, smoothing across his brow and grazing over a cheekbone until finally they traced the outline of Yuuri’s upturned lips.

Yuuri’s tongue flicked out, catching the tips of Victor’s fingers and Victor paused his movement, his cheeks flushing even further.

“Oh,” Victor said and then the pad of this thumb pressed against the swell of Yuuri’s bottom lip.

Yuuri opened his lips and gave Victor’s thumb a gentle suck. Yuuri liked the way Victor felt against his lips and liked the way he tasted.

But then Victor pulled his hand away. He resumed stroking through Yuuri’s hair. “Not this time,” he said, “You’re already being perfect for me.”

Yuuri accepted that, feeling warm and content, and sunk back into his state of relaxation. It felt like slipping into the hot waters of the onsen after a particularly grueling workout or like lying in fragrant grass on the first day of spring. Victor’s fingers would occasionally run along Yuuri’s neck and skate across his collarbones and each touch felt rays of sunshine dancing across his skin.

Yuuri didn’t know how long he stayed like that, floating, but eventually he started to come back to himself. The aches in his knees and shoulders began to grate on him and his thoughts start to coalesce once more. Yuuri remembered his awful bout of spacing sickness. He remembered rushing into the bathroom and spilling his medication. He remembered crouching and scrambling to pick up the pills. And then Yuuri remembered Victor.

_Victor._

Yuuri looked up, and sure enough there was Victor Nikiforov, his hand still tangled in Yuuri’s hair.

Yuuri sucked in a breath. Had Victor-

“Coming back?” Victor enquired, interrupting Yuuri’s thoughts.

Yuuri thought about it for a moment and nodded.

“You can relax then for me, Yuuri,” Victor said.

Yuuri gratefully unclasped his hands and shifted to sit, taking the pressure of his knees. As he shook out his arms, Victor lowered himself onto the floor to sit next to Yuuri.

“Here, let me,” Victor said. He reached out, grasped Yuuri’s arm, and started gently knead the muscles there, working out the stiffness in them.

Yuuri watched, breathless, as Victor massaged one arm and then other. But once he was done, Victor didn’t let go of Yuuri’s arm. Instead, he smiled and tugged, causing Yuuri to tip forward against him with a yelp.

Victor wrapped his arms around Yuuri and one of them started stroking across Yuuri’s back in a soothing rhythm. “There,” Victor said, sounding satisfied. “That’s better.”

His face pressed against the crook of Victor’s neck, and his hands splayed against Victor’s muscled chest, Yuuri was faced with the odd but wonderful sensation of being embraced by four-time-World-Champion Victor Nikiforov. Victor was warm and firm against Yuuri and he smelled amazing and Yuuri wondered if this was all some sort of elaborate hallucination.

Maybe Yuuri had fallen during practice, hit his head on the ice, slipped into a coma, and now his poor, damaged brain was supplying him with these images and sensations as a consolation prize. Yuuri mentally shrugged. There were worse fates than an eternity spent hallucinating cuddling with Victor Nikiforov.

“How do you feel?” Victor asked.

How did he feel? Yuuri took stock of himself. Most noticeably, his spacing sickness symptoms were gone. Yuuri felt like there was enough room in his lungs to breathe again and he felt like his heart could beat without bursting through his chest. And then there was something… _more_ \- something beyond the physical. Yuuri felt calm. He felt centered and confident. Yuuri didn’t think he’d ever felt this good before.

“I feel… great,” Yuuri said.

“I’m glad,” Victor said, sounding pleased.

Yuuri frowned. Why did he feel this good? Why had kneeling for Victor felt so different from all the other times he’d knelt for a dom? And then it hit him. The knowledge slammed into Yuuri, stealing the breath from him.

“Victor, did you put me into subspace?”

“Yes?” Victor said, and even though Yuuri couldn’t see his face, he could he could hear the confusion in Victor’s voice. “I saw the ASIMs scattered everywhere and how pale you were. And as soon as I realized what was happening, I offered to scene with you.”

Yuuri could barely believe it. He had actually managed to fall into subspace. For the first time in his life, Yuuri knew what it felt like. No wonder subs reveled in this. Subspace had somehow felt both like flying and being grounded at the same time. It was sublime.

“Why?” Yuuri asked. He couldn’t stop the question from tumbling out of his mouth, no matter how tactless it was.

“Yuuri,” Victor chided, “Taking ASIMs right before a competition? Of course I couldn’t let you do that.” He paused for moment. “After all, I need my competition to be in top form when I beat them - anything else would feel like cheating,” Victor teased. “I expect you to be on the podium, Yuuri. Below me, of course, but-”

Victor’s words penetrated the contended haze Yuuri had let himself fall into. “The podium,” Yuuri yelled, jerking himself out of Victor’s arms and scrambling to his feet. “Oh god. What time is it? The free skate- I have meet Celestino and get changed and…”

“Yuuri, we weren’t done cuddling.”

Yuuri’s frantic train of thought was cut off by the plaintive words. He watched as Victor rose to his feet as well, pouting.

Abruptly, the reality of what had happened hit Yuuri. Yuuri had been put into subspace and he had been put there by _Victor Nikiforov._ Oh god. It was just sinking in. His idol had seen Yuuri at his worst and most pathetic. _Of course_ Victor had felt compelled to try and help him. Victor had been lovely and what was his reward? He’d been forced to put up with Yuuri’s no doubt awkward and fumbling submission and afterwards - because he was a perfect dom who would never forget aftercare - Victor had been obligated to _cuddle him._ Yuuri’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment. How humiliating. Yuuri would never be able to look Victor in the eyes again, let alone speak to him.

Yuuri grabbed the handle of the bathroom door, opening it and preparing to rush out when a lurch of guilt stopped him. He turned and met Victor’s gaze.

Victor’s expression was contemplative as he watched Yuuri and his eyes were bright with some emotion Yuuri couldn’t place.

“Victor…” Yuri said, trying to find the right words to encompass the enormity of what Victor had done for him. Because Yuuri’s embarrassment aside, Victor had likely saved Yuuri from withdrawal, injury, or placing last in the GPF. “Thank you.”

Victor’s mouth curled into a smile and he winked. “See you on the podium, Yuuri.”


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH to everyone that subscribed/bookmarked, left kudos, and commented! I couldn’t have asked for a better or warmer welcome to this fandom :D Also, just as an FYI, everything I know about figure skating I learned from YOI and googling so I apologize in advance for the things I’ll inevitably get wrong!

**Sochi GPF, December 8th  
** **Men’s Free Skate**

The music from Michele Crispino’s program faded and Yuuri took a deep breath. He heard the applause and the commentators talking as Michele stepped off the ice, but the noise was distant and unimportant. It was Yuuri’s turn to skate next.

A hand clasped his shoulder and Yuuri looked up.

“It’s time, Yuuri,” Celestino said.

Yuuri rose to his feet and Celestino gripped Yuuri’s other shoulder as well, looking him in the eyes. “You can do this, Yuuri,” he said. “Ignore the crowd. Wipe them out of your mind and picture the person you want to watch you skate. Skate for them and, most importantly, skate for yourself. You can win, I know you can.”

Yuuri listened to Celestino’s words and waited for the voice in the back of his head to interrupt, to whisper that Yuuri couldn’t do this, to slyly observed that Yuuri was a fraud who had somehow tricked and lucked his way into the GPF final. But it never happened. The voice was silent.

“I can do it,” Yuuri said and was shocked to find he believed it.

“Yes,” Celestino said with a smile.

Yuuri skated out to his starting position. It was quiet in the stadium. Normally, Yuuri hated this moment. The oppressive silence before his music began always seemed to trigger the worst last-minute thoughts. But this time, Yuuri felt calm and peaceful. Yes, he was anxious, but it was a normal level of anxiety and not the dark, swirling mass of negativity that usually threatened to consume Yuuri in these moments. And nervousness wasn’t all he felt. For the first time in years, he felt hope and excitement before a competition. He’d forgotten skating in front of a crowd could make him feel like this.

He closed his eyes and followed Celestino’s suggestion. Instead of the thousands of people filling the stands, Yuuri thought of his family, huddled around a TV in the onsen watching. He thought of Minako, Yuuko, and Vicchan. He thought of Phichit no doubt live tweeting the entire GPF final. Yuuri would skate for them.

As his music started, Yuuri saw a spot of silver across the rink.

_Victor._

Part of Yuuri cringed away from the thought of Victor watching him after what had happened between them earlier, but the larger part of him was determined to show Victor what he could do. Yuuri had been skating for Victor for 10 years and today, Victor would finally see him perform.

_Watch me_ , Yuuri thought and then he skated.

* * *

Yuuri held his final position as the music faded, his breaths coming in short pants and sweat beading his brow.

_Yes_ , he thought. _YES._

The words of the announcers were hard to hear over the roar of the crowd, but Yuuri was able to make them out as he exited off the ice and moved towards the Kiss and Cry.

“Normally shaky on the more difficult technical components, today, Katsuki delivers a stunning performance. Evocative and masterful. You can hear the audience’s appreciation.”

“Yuuri!” cried out Celestino, pulling him into an embrace. “I’m so proud.”

Too overwhelmed to reply, Yuuri gratefully collapsed onto the bench. He felt strangely calm as he waited for his score. Yuuri knew he’d skated with his whole heart. He’d done his best. It almost didn’t matter what his score was… except it _did_ matter because Yuuri wanted to win here, in Sochi and on the same ice as Victor, more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

“What a gorgeous program from Katsuki. A slight wobble on the landing of the quad toe-loop, but otherwise flawless,” one of the commentators said.

“I agree - but let’s see if the Judges do. Here comes the score.”

Yuuri’s mouth fell open as his score was announced and cheers of the crowd swelled even further. 199.5. A personal best. Celestino hugged him again, yelling his congratulations in Yuuri’s ear. His combined score was 297.37. Yuuri watched in disbelief as his name moved into first place.

“That score catapults Katsuki into first place, ahead of Bin and Crispino,” said the commentator.

“But will it be enough to earn him a medal?” the other asked, “JJ Leroy, Christophe Giacometti, and, of course, Victor Nikiforov have yet to stake and they all have programs with higher base scores than Katsuki’s.”

“We’ll see, won’t we. We’ll see.”

* * *

Yuuri watched JJ’s and Chris’s programs with bated breath. And while Chris’s combined score of 301.46 knocked Yuuri down to second place, JJ’s final score of 288.59 placed in him third, behind Yuuri.

The only skater left was Victor.

Yuuri was in second place.

Yuuri would medal.

Yuuri would medal at the _GPF Final_.

The knowledge left him stunned and speechless. Yuuri had to sit down. He did and then he put his head in between his knees, attempting to calm the butterflies running rampant in his stomach. It seemed impossible that this was happening. Had Yuuri really skated that well?

“Last up is Victor Nikiforov from Russia.”

The announcement cut through Yuuri’s daze. He jumped to his feet and made his way back towards the edge of rink. Personal crisis or no, Yuuri would never pass up an opportunity to watch Victor skate.

The opening notes of Queen’s “Somebody to Love” played and Victor started to skate. As it always did, the world fell away as Yuuri watched Victor. All that mattered was the music, the fluid power of Victor’s skating, and the memories of home - of blooming cherry blossom and Yuuko’s laughter - that watching Victor skate always evoked. Yuuri traced the graceful arch of Victor’s back, the breadth of his shoulders, the sharp, expressive movements of his hands - hands that hours ago had been tangled in Yuuri’s hair and firm against his neck as Yuuri-

Yuuri shook his head. No. He couldn’t think about that now.

Yuuri re-focused on Victor, feeling the emotion and power of Victor’s program in his bones. Every time he saw Victor skate, Yuuri fell in love with skating a little bit more. And as Victor skated his yearning to find somebody to love, the audience reciprocated - falling in love with Victor’s skating right alongside Yuuri. Victor launched into his signature quad flip and Yuuri imagined himself on the ice next to Victor, mirroring him as he skated, a perfect foil.

The music came to an end and the crowd roared its approval. Victor’s program had been perfect. There was no doubt in Yuuri’s mind he would go home with gold.

As Victor’s scores were announced, the commentators confirmed it.

“And with an emotional and intricate free skate bringing his total score to 335.76. Victor Nikiforov defends his title! The final standings are as follows. In first place, Victor Nikiforov of Russia. This Nikiforov’s fifth consecutive Grand Prix gold medal. In second place, Christophe Giacometti of Switzerland. The Swiss skater’s sensual programs have netted him his second GPF silver medal. And in third place, Japan’s Ace, Yuuri Katsuki. Confounding expectations, Katsuki’s wins bronze in his first GPF final appearance!”

* * *

The camera flashes were blinding, the sound of the crowd was deafening, and Yuuri would have traded part of his soul for the chance to have showered before this, but all of that faded away when they placed the medal around his neck.

He stared down at it, pride waring with disbelief. Did he deserve this? Had he only won because of Vict-

“Congratulations, Yuuri.”

Startled, Yuuri turned towards the podium where Victor stood. Victor, who was looking at Yuuri instead of out at the cheering crowd like he should have been.

“I’m glad you see you followed my instructions-” Victor paused, a playful smile curling his lips, “and made it onto the podium.”

Yuuri’s cheeks flamed as he remembered exactly how much he had enjoyed following Victor’s instructions. Oh god. Multiple cameras were recording this and hundreds more were taking photos and now every image of him finally winning a championship medal would feature a bright red, flustered Yuuri. Perfect. _Exactly_ the look Yuuri had been aiming for.

“Con- Congratulations to you too, Victor,” Yuuri eventually stammered.

“Thank you, Yuuri,” Victor practically purred as he fluttered his eyelashes at Yuuri.

“Oh my _god_ ,” interjected a delighted Chris from the other side of Victor. His gaze flickered between Victor and Yuuri like he was watching a particularly engrossing tennis match.

Thankfully they were ushered off the podiums and into a staging room for the press conference before Yuuri could spontaneously combust from embarrassment. But as soon as the ISU official had left the room, Victor crowded close to Yuuri.

“Let’s take a commemorative photo, Yuuri!” Victor exclaimed, throwing one arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and holding his phone out for a selfie with the other. Yuuri felt the warmth and weight of Victor’s arm around him like a brand. He barely restrained a shiver and ignored the part of him that was desperate to fold to his knees for Victor once more.

“What am I? Chopped liver?” Chris asked from a few feet away.

“Don’t listen to him, Yuuri,” Victor said. “Chris and I have plenty of photos together. Now smile!”

Yuuri despaired of the seemingly permanent blush he was sporting and smiled.

“Wow! Cute,” Victor exclaimed, looking at the photo. “You photograph so well, Yuuri.”

Yuuri heard Chris snort.

“Th-Thank you,” Yuuri said, watching as Victor’s fingers flew across the keyboard of his phone, clearly getting ready to post the photo. Victor hadn’t moved from his position next to Yuuri and he stood so near that Yuuri could feel the heat radiating from Victor’s body.

“There,” Victor said, pocketing his phone and turning back to Yuuri. Victor stepped even closer and his hand cupped Yuuri’s face, his fingers trailing along Yuuri’s jaw. “Now Yuuri, tell me everything about your program. Why did you choose music? What inspired it? Was it a lover? A girlfriend or boyfriend? An ex?” He asked, eyes half-lidded and intent on Yuuri. Victor’s other hand reached out to skim the back of Yuuri’s hand, fingers curling around it. “Who did you think about when you skated?”

“Subtle, Victor,” said Chris.

Yuuri’s gaze was caught by Victor’s and he couldn’t help leaning into Victor’s touch. Each point of contact felt like a spark, like a burning ember that Yuuri wanted to fan into a flame. Yuuri wanted those fingers to slide back to his neck, to trace their way along his body, to wrap around-

_What am I doing?_

With a yelp, Yuuri yanked himself away from Victor, stumbling backwards and putting a few feet of much needed space between them.

“Yuuri,” Victor pouted, “Why are you runni-”

“Ready?” said the ISU official who had just come back into the room, cutting Victor off.

The three of them were escorted to the press conference where the reporters kept Victor too busy with their questions for Victor to be able ask Yuuri any more of his own. But it didn’t stop Victor from looking at Yuuri, which he did and did often - his gaze heavy and appreciative.

Yuuri had no idea what to make of Victor. He was so bewildered he had no time for the nerves and self-consciousness that normally made him hate talking to the press. As a result, Yuuri managed to give mostly coherent answers to all of the questions directed at him until-

“Yuuri, how does it feel to be one of the few subs in professional skating?” A reporter asked, causing the rest of the group to murmur.

Although questions about orientation from the press weren’t prohibited, they were uncommon, and it had been years since Yuuri had been asked about his. The question made him stiffen in discomfort, his shoulders rising and muscles tensing.

It had been decades since most countries had rolled back legal restrictions on subs - restrictions that had prevented subs from voting, barred them from certain jobs and sports, and allowed discrimination against them in hiring and promotion - and while today subs had gained equal representation in many industries, they still remained a distinct minority in professional sports. The reasons why were varied and complex but at their core was a simple, unspoken, and long-standing belief held by development programs, coaches, team owners, and sponsors worldwide: there was no use investing time, money, and energy into training a sub if there was any risk they would falter when competing against an angry, determined dom.

Yuuri hated when people assumed that because he was a sub and an athlete, Yuuri was qualified to be an advocate, spokesperson, or role model. Yuuri was a barely competent skater and an even worse sub. Nobody should be looking to him for advice or wisdom.

“I don’t think my orientation has anything to do with my skating,” Yuuri said. A blatant lie of course, but one he hoped would put an end to this line of questioning.

“So you don’t believe that being a sub has impacted - positively or negatively - your skating?”

“No,” Yuuri said.

Although the reporter looked she wanted continue pressing Yuuri, the ISU official moderating the conference called on someone else. That reporter asked Chris a question about Swiss Nationals and Yuuri exhaled, relieved he wouldn’t have to answer any further questions about his orientation.

Something brushed against Yuuri’s hand (which rested in his lap, below the edge of the table and out of sight of the reporters) and Yuuri started, looking down in alarm as long, graceful fingers encircled his wrist and squeezed, applying a firm, gentle pressure.

Victor’s fingers.

And just like hours earlier in the bathroom, Yuuri found himself relaxing, stress uncoiling and the rigidity in his muscles melting away. It felt like an enormous weight being lifted off of his shoulders and Yuuri looked at Victor with wide eyes - Victor, who wasn’t even looking at Yuuri, but answering a question about what changes he might be making in his free skate before Worlds.

Victor finished speaking and withdrew his hand with no one in the room being any the wiser to what he’d done for Yuuri. When the next question went to Chris, Victor took the opportunity to glance over at Yuuri and wink.

* * *

Once the press conference ended, Yuuri managed to slip away before Victor could corner him again. He hid himself in the nearest empty room, needing some peace and quiet to process the overwhelming events of the past few hours.

After taking a few deep, centering breaths (which didn’t help because Yuuri was actually a collection of anxious thoughts masquerading as a person) Yuuri looked around at the room in dawning horror. Oh god. He was in another bathroom. Not the same one as earlier, but one that was alarmingly similar. The room had the same white and blue tiled walls and the same red toilet stalls.

Yuuri had come in here specifically to avoid thinking about Victor and now thinking about Victor was all he was going to be capable of doing. Yuuri couldn’t be in this room without having vivid flashbacks to the feeling of his knees pressed against hard tile, the twine of Victor’s fingers in his hair, and the blissful freedom of subspace. And it also reminded Yuuri that Victor had just rescued him again, during the press conference. God, Yuuri was pathetic. Was that what Victor thought too? _Poor Yuuri, the pathetic sub, it’s my duty to help him-_

Yuuri was well on his way to working himself up into a good panic spiral when the door to the bathroom burst open, slamming against the wall with a sharp crack. Startled, Yuuri jumped and turned, only to find himself face-to-face with the two-time Junior Grand Prix Final gold medalist: Yuri Plisetsky.

Blond hair - check. Team Russia jacket - check. Face permanently fixed in an angry scowl - check. It was definitely Yuri Plisetsky - Yuri who was now glaring at him, hands balled into fists in the pockets of his jacket.

Yuri’s expression made Yuuri feel like he was a piece of garbage lying on a highway. He wondered if Yuri had practiced to perfect that face or if it was a natural talent he’d been born with. Then Yuuri wondered what he’d done to earn Yuri’s wrath.

Yuri raised a delicate finger and proceeded to shove it in Yuuri’s face.

“I’m competing in the senior division next year and we don’t need two Yuris in the same bracket - you should retire now, while you’re ahead!”

“What?” Yuuri said, thoroughly confused.

“Moron!” Yuri yelled, “I can’t believe you medaled today - especially with that program. Maybe if it hadn’t been so simply choreographed that an eight-year-old with a broke leg could skate it, you would have knocked that old geezer off the top of the podium. God knows his ego needs the check.”

Yuuri thought there might have been a compliment hiding somewhere in the words and he was oddly pleased by Yuri’s regard. “Thank you,” Yuuri said, “But I don’t think anyone - least of all me - could beat Victor.”

Yuuri’s face contorted into an expression of pure rage. “ARGH! That wasn’t a compliment! I can’t believe I share a name with an idiot. You better watch your back, Katsuki, I’m coming for you!”

With a stomp of one red, leopard printed shoe, Yuri stormed back out of the bathroom, leaving behind Yuuri who couldn’t decide if he was more intimidated or amused by the encounter.

* * *

As soon as Yuuri got back to his hotel room, he showered, struggled into a pair of boxers, and exhausted by even that minor effort, crawled into bed and passed out - his bronze medal lying on the pillow next to him. Yuuri then proceeded to sleep for twelve hours straight and through four of his alarms.

When he woke up, it was to afternoon sunlight streaming through his windows and a phone overloaded with notifications. He dealt first with the calls and texts from his family, Minako, Yuuko, and Phichit. He called each of them back and let the warm praise and pride in their voices bolster him. Phichit had screamed for about a minute straight and his parents had even had Vicchan bark his congratulations to Yuuri over the phone.

Next, Yuuri apprehensively turned his attention to the overwhelming number of likes, mentions, and comments on his little-used social media accounts. He opened his Instagram and the first thing he saw was the post-podium selfie of him and Victor that Victor had tagged him in.

_It’s not a bad picture_ , Yuuri thought and his gaze traced over the close press of their shoulders, Victor’s arm around him, and the curve of Victor’s smile. Yuuri scrolled down to read the caption and comments.

Yuuri’s stomach clenched and twisted and he closed the app with shaking fingers. He’d thought- well, he’d thought that winning his first championship medal would have made disparaging comments about his skating less prevalent. Yuuri had also hoped that finally winning would have made him less sensitive to them. But unfortunately, part of him knew those comments were _right_. Yuuri hadn’t deserved to win. It had only been through sheer luck (Victor finding him and Victor being able to put him in subspace) that Yuuri hadn’t fallen apart at yesterday’s skate.

His phone buzzed in his hand and it jerked Yuuri out of his gloomy thoughts. Seeing that it was Celestino calling, Yuuri answered.

“Yuuri!” exclaimed Celestino. “I’m calling to remind you about tonight’s banquet. I know you don’t like public events, but this one is important. Everyone who’s important in skating - from officials to sponsors - will be there. So I expect to see you there at eight. No excuses!”

Yuuri assured Celestino that he would be there and ended the call.

Oh god. He’d forgotten about the stupid banquet.

Everyone went to the banquet, which meant-

Victor. Victor would be at the banquet. And so would Yuuri. And so would copious amounts of free alcohol.

Excellent.

* * *

Yuuri slipped into the banquet hall as unobtrusively as possible. He scanned the room for the darkest, emptiest corner and as soon as he found it, Yuuri started to make his way there, skirting around the large groups of people with his eyes fixed on the floor so as to preempt any eye contact.

Yuuri had nearly reached his haven when a firm slap to his ass made him jump and emit a high-pitched squeak.

“Yuuri, chérie, I don’t know how you do it, but even in that hideous suit and tie, you look quite edible.”

Yuuri whirled around and came face to face with a grinning Chris. Yuuri relaxed. Although he didn’t know him well, Yuuri considered Chris a friend.

After Worlds in March (Chris won silver and Yuuri made it to the free skate, but didn’t medal), Yuuri had gone out (AKA had been forcibly dragged out by Phichit) to a club with a group of other skaters. Chris had been there and he and Yuuri had gotten spectacularly drunk together. At about 2 am, sweaty and tired from dancing, Yuuri had complained about the heat to Chris and Chris had had what drunk-Yuuri had thought was a rather spectacular idea.

Yuuri supposed there were some things you couldn’t share without ending up friends, and nearly getting arrested in France for desecrating a Church because the two of you were stripping in its sacred fountain was one of them.

Yuuri rolled his eyes. “Very funny, Chris.”

Chris pressed a hand to his heart. “I was utterly serious, chérie. It wounds me that you never believe my flirting,” he said with a grin before snatching two glasses of champagne off of the tray of a passing server and handing one to Yuuri. “But more importantly, a toast,’” Chris said, raising his glass. “To your first GPF medal, may it be followed by many more.”

Blushing, Yuuri took a sip of the champagne. “Thank you, Chris.”

Chris took a sip from his own glass before his expression turned mischievous. “That was quite the show on the podium, Yuuri. I didn’t know you and Victor knew each other.”

Yuuri, who had been in the middle of another sip of champagne, choked. “We don’t!” he exclaimed as soon as he finished coughing.

“And I couldn’t help noticing how… relaxed you look on the ice today, Yuuri,” Chris said, his expression shrewd, “It was truly lovely.”

Yuuri’s heart began to race. Oh God. Chris knew. Or rather, he suspected. Suspected that something had happened between Victor and Yuuri and that it had to do with Yuuri’s… problem. And how did Chris know about Yuuri’s problem? Because drunk and despondent after his loss at World’s, Yuuri had told him.

“What’s it like?” Yuuri had asked, tipsy enough to let his guard down.

“What’s what like?” Chris had responded. It was well known that Chris was a switch who would - in Chris’s own words - “try anything at least twice.”

“Subspace,” Yuuri had said, unable to suppress the longing in his voice.

Chris had looked at him strangely and Yuuri hadn’t been able to stop himself from blurting out the whole shameful story - his many varied attempts and failures to enter subspace and his subsequent reliance on ASIMs.

“Oh chérie, I’m sorry,” Chris had said before gathering Yuuri into a hug. Chris had let Yuuri cry his frustrations out on his shoulder. He’d then bought Yuuri another drink, made terrible innuendos until Yuuri laughed, and dragged him out onto the dance floor, determined to make Yuuri have fun.

Chris was a good person and a friend but that didn’t mean Yuuri ever wanted him to know what had happened between him and Victor. It would be mortifying. “Um, I didn’t- he didn’t- we aren’t, uh-” Yuuri stammered.

Thankfully Chris cut him off with a laugh. “Relax, chérie. I’m just teasing.”

“Please don’t tell him,” Yuuri begged and they both knew what Yuuri was talking about. It would shatter Yuuri even further if Victor ever found out how broken he was.

Chris’s expression softened. “I would never, Yuuri. I promise. But I am glad the two of you finally met.”

“Chris, we’re not- we’re not anything. We’re not even friends.”

“But you could be.”

Yuuri looked away. He didn’t know why they were discussing this.

Yuuri downed the rest of his glass of champagne. Why would Victor want to be friends with Yuuri? And even if he did, there was no way Victor would ever want anything more. Victor, who could have whoever he wanted.

_Victor, who I’m going to see tonight_.

The thought popped into Yuuri’s head and he flinched. For a moment, he’d managed to forget Victor would be at the banquet. He was probably here already, somewhere in this room. Yuuri started scanning the crowd, looking for a glimpse of distinctive silver hair.

“He’s not here.”

Yuuri turned to look back at Chris. “What?”

“Victor’s not coming,” Chris said. “There was a last minute crisis with one of his sponsors, I think. Something about a shampoo commercial that’s supposed to air tomorrow, a possible bald spot, and necessary reshoots? It was hard to understand Victor through the dramatic tears and the protests that his hair is just as thick as it was when he was 20. Anyways, the last time I talked to him, he, Yakov, and little Yuri were trying to get tickets on tonight’s flight back to St. Petersburg.”

Victor wasn’t coming and Yuuri’s first thought was that he was- disappointed. Yuuri frowned. Why was he disappointed? It was a good thing Victor wasn’t coming, right? It meant Yuuri didn’t have to spend the entire night avoiding him.

Victor wasn’t coming and it was _fine_. Yuuri wouldn’t see him until Worlds, three months from now. And even then, there would be so many skaters present that it was unlikely he and Victor would interact.

_Good_ , Yuuri thought, ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly thirsty, he grabbed another glass of champagne and drained it one gulp.

Yuuri wiped his mouth with the back of hand and met Chris’s eyes once more.

“Are we going to have a repeat of France, Yuuri?” Chris asked, amused.

“No, of course not,” Yuuri said.

* * *

Yuuri woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache and no memory of how he’d gotten back to his hotel room. The last thing he remembered was finishing his fourth glass of champagne, Chris asking him to dance, and Yuuri - determined to stop thinking about Victor - agreeing.

Yuuri sat up and the movement caused his vision to fade and swirl, triggering his nausea. God. How much had he drunk last night? And more importantly, had he done anything idiotic while he was intoxicated?

Yuuri fumbled for his phone and checked the time. With a yelp, he realized he had less than an hour to pack and get ready before meeting Celestino in the lobby for their flight back to Detroit. Below the clock was a notification - a text from Chris.

Yuuri eyed the line of explicit emojis and decided he never wanted to know what had happened last night.

Yuuri plugged in his phone to charge and then made his way to the bathroom. He was halfway through his shower and washing his chest when he noticed the water running down his body was tinged with black. Alarmed, Yuuri looked down at his chest and realized something was written on it. There, scrawled in a large bold script right underneath his collarbones, was a string of numbers, a few of them faded and blurred where Yuuri had already washed. It was a phone number, Yuuri realized.

Whose number was it? And why was it written on his chest? Did that mean Yuuri had taken off his shirt at some point during the night?

Yuuri grimaced. Better to not pursue that line of thought. Determined to get rid of every reminder of last night, Yuuri scrubbed at the number until it disappeared.

* * *

Yuuri barely made it to the lobby on time and as soon as they’d checked out, Celestino bundled them into a cab.

It was snowing and Yuuri gazed out of the window as they drove to the airport, watching the swirling of the flakes. He wondered if it was snowing in Hasetsu.

_Hasetsu. Home._

The thought made his chest hurt. He missed home. He missed his family. He missed Minako and Yuuko. He missed Vicchan. He missed the hot springs and the seashore. After everything that had happened in the past few days - the whirlwind and confusion from his encounters with Victor and the shock of medaling - all Yuuri wanted was the comfort of being home. In a little over two weeks he would be in Sapporo for Japanese Nationals. Close but still over 2,000 km from Hasetsu.

_But what if-_

“Coach,” Yuuri said, “Do I have to go back to Detroit?” Seeing Celestino’s confused expression, Yuuri hastened to elaborate. “I mean, I’m going to be flying to Japan in two weeks for Nationals anyway. So what if instead of going back to the US, I skipped the extra 16-hour flight and spent the next two weeks in Japan - at home.”

Celestino raised his eyebrows.

“I would practice every day!” Yuuri said, “And I would skype or call you as often as you wanted and send you videos of my routines. Please, Coach. It’s been four years since I’ve been home.”

Celestino laughed and held up a hand. “Stop, stop. You don’t have to convince me, Yuuri. I was merely surprised by the suggestion. Of course you deserve to go home. I trust you. You skated magnificently two days ago. You’re already the favorite to win at Nationals, and if you skate like you did here, there will be no problems.”

Celestino’s words sent a curl of dread twisting through him. Would Yuuri’s scene with Victor be enough to carry him through Nationals without developing any symptoms of spacing sickness? Would he have to try to find a way to get to subspace again without Victor? Was it even possible? What if Yuuri was forced to take ASIMs again too close to Nationals?

Yuuri pushed the uncomfortable thoughts away and focused on the positive. He was finally going home. He could almost taste his mom’s katsudon on his tongue and picture the hot waters of the onsen soothing away the soreness in his muscles.

Yuuri smiled. “Thank you, Coach.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: “Am I making Victor too extra?”  
> Me after rewatching episode 2 for research: “There is no such thing as too extra for Victor Nikiforov.”
> 
> Thanks for reading!! Next chapter will cover Japanese Nationals and possibly Four Continents and begin justifying the fic's E rating :D I don’t have a set posting schedule, but my goal is to try to write and post a chapter a week, so look out for Chapter 3 in the next 6-8 days!


	3. Three

**Hasetsu, Japan, December 15th  
** **Five days until Japanese Nationals**

Yuuri held the final position of his free skate as the music faded.

_Good,_ he thought, lips curved in a smile. _That was good._

Yuuri had skated both of his routines every day in the five days he’d been home, and each time he did, his skating was pristine. Yuuri told his body what to do and his body _listened._ It was novel. It was also unnerving.

“Bravo!”

Yuuri turned and saw Yuuko jumping and clapping by the side of the rink. He skated over to her. “Yuuko, you’ve seen me skate the exact same thing every day I’ve been back,” Yuuri said, bemused.

Yuuko sniffed. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t clap at, Yuuri Katsuki. After four years of cheering you on from behind a TV, I deserve this.”

“Thank you for watching, Yuuko,” Yuuri said. It felt good having Yuuko, the first person to ever see him skate, watch him now. Yuuri would never have made it this far without her.

“Of course, Yuuri! Your programs are beautiful- and I’m not the only one who thinks so, huh?” When Yuuri looked at her blankly, Yuuko giggled. “I’m talking about Victor, of course. You’ve been back for five days and you still haven’t told me what it was like, finally meeting him. Is he as nice as he seems? Did you get an autograph? What did he say on the podium to make you turn that shade of red? Oh! That shade right there!” Yuuko exclaimed, pointing at Yuuri’s face.

Yuuri could feel his cheeks flaming and was helpless to stop the blush. He had been avoiding this exact conversation for days. Or rather, Yuuri had been trying (and failing) to avoid think about Victor altogether. He’d foolishly thought time and distance would help. They hadn’t.

“Yes, Victor’s nice.”

“ _And?_ ”

“And what?” Yuuri never thought the day would come when he didn’t want to talk about Victor Nikiforov, but here it was.

“That’s it?! ‘Victor’s nice?’” Yuuko asked, her eyes wide. “Come on Yuuri, tell me _something._ What did you two talk about?”

“Nothing!” Yuuri exclaimed, “Just skating, the competition.”

“Will you see him again? Oh my god, did you get his number?”

“No!” Yuuri said, his voice sharp, and Yuuko’s smile faded. “No. He congratulated me on my medal and that was it.”

Yuuko was quiet for a moment, her expression confused. “Okay Yuuri, I’m sorry.”

Yuuri sighed. He shouldn’t have snapped at Yuuko. None of this was her fault. “No, I’m sorry, Yuuko. I think it's time for me to head home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Yuuri packed up his things, bundled himself in his puffy coat and thick scarf, and stepped outside. He started his walk home, his breath misting in the cold air.

Yuuri had been ignoring the reality of what had happened between him and Victor since coming home. Hasetsu had always been his haven; a place untouched by Yuuri’s problems with his orientation. Yuuri hadn’t wanted to taint that.

The past few days had reminded him of what skating had felt like before he’d presented as a sub. The excitement of gliding out on fresh ice, the freedom of flying through the air on a jump and landing cleanly, the contentment of knowing this was what he was meant to do. Yuuri hadn’t felt like this in years and he owed it all to Victor - Victor, who had quieted the storm within Yuuri with a touch. Victor, who was the first and only person to do so.

While most people presented towards the end of puberty - at around 16 - Yuuri had presented late. Presentation was a combination of symptoms (different for each orientation) and a blood test that confirmed an individual’s orientation as dom, sub, or switch. A small subset of the population never presented and were classified as non-identifying.

When Yuuri hadn’t presented by 17, a part of him had hoped he would be non-identifying. It certainly would have made his life simpler. Because while most kids his age had eagerly awaited their presentations, Yuuri couldn’t have cared less about his. He’d just wanted to skate. But a few months before his 18th birthday - and mere weeks before moving to Detroit to begin training with Celestino - Yuuri presented as a sub.

It was terrible. Yuuri was on his own in a new, foreign country where he wasn’t fluent in the language and he’d had to balance college and competitive skating with figuring out how to manage his orientation.

Yuuri’s first few times scening were fumbling and mortifying. Each failure to achieve subspace resulted in frustrated hopelessness from Yuuri and confusion, disdain, and at times, anger, from the dom he was scening with.

The first time Yuuri developed spacing sickness, he didn’t realize what it was it. He had thought he’d come down with the flu. But the dizziness, nausea, and muscle aches hadn’t gone away. No. They got worse. And by the time Celestino realized what was happening, Yuuri’s condition had been so bad that he’d had to spend two days in the hospital, being stabilized by a carefully controlled regimen of IV ASIMs. Yuuri had been alone and terrified. He’d hated his body for doing this to him, for betraying him. It was the first time he’d truly despised his orientation.

In the following months, despite the help and advice of numerous doctors, orientation specialists, and therapists, Yuuri still repeatedly failed to achieve subspace. And each subsequent attempt was more miserable and degrading than the one before it. Eventually, Yuuri was advised to stop scening altogether and was instead prescribed a permanent regimen of ASIMs to balance his body chemistry. Yuuri spent the next year adjusting doses and battling side effects.

Celestino stood by Yuuri through all of it.

It would have been easy for Celestino to stop coaching Yuuri; to tell Yuuri he would never make it as a figure skater with the burden of being a sub weighing him down. Because of his orientation, most other coaches would never have accepted Yuuri as a student in the first place, let alone supported him through his struggles with managing it. But Celestino had never wavered in his conviction that Yuuri could succeed.

By the time he turned 20, things were better. Yuuri had largely figured out his medication regimen and had begun competing in earnest. That was also the year Phichit started skating under Celestino and Yuuri made his first real friend in America.

Yuuri had been fine. Or rather, he’d been coping. It had taken years, but Yuuri had finally made his way to the GPF final on his own merits. And then Victor had smashed into Yuuri’s life, upending everything Yuuri had thought he’d known about himself.

Yuuri opened the front door of Yu-topia and was hit by a wave of warm air that smelled like his mom’s cooking. There was a low murmur of conversation in the onsen and Yuuri could hear Vicchan barking.

“Yuuri, you’re home! How was practice?”

Hiroko’s voice jerked Yuuri out of his reverie and he turned to face to his mom as she walked out of the kitchen to greet him. Behind her came Vicchan, tongue lolling as he raced towards Yuuri.

“It was good,” Yuuri said as he scooped Vicchan up. Vicchan yipped excitedly and licked Yuuri’s chin, making Yuuri laugh.

Hiroko smiled at them. “Do you want to eat now, Yuuri?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ll go bathe first.”

“And then after, more of your mom’s Katsudon?” Toshiya yelled from next room. A moment later, Yuuri’s dad walked in and wrapped his arms around Hiroko. “Magical, isn’t it - her cooking?”

Hiroko laughed and elbowed Toshiya, pushing him away. “Such flattery. What are you after?”

“Do I need ulterior motives to compliment my wife?” Toshiya asked, twining their fingers together and lifting Hiroko’s hand to kiss the back of it, his lips pressing against her bond mark. As he drew away, the lights of the onsen glinted off the red camellia flower mark on Hiroko’s hand and it’s matching twin on the back of Toshiya’s hand.

Yuuri watched them with a smile. He’d missed this, being around the easy affection that flowed between his parents - a bonded couple.

Bonding was uncommon. Bonds - a low level empathetic link and matching marks unique to a couple that manifested after months or years of consistent scening - only happened between particularly compatible dom/sub/switch partners. Only around 15% of relationships resulted in bonds. Outside of bonding and marriage, long-term dom/sub/switch partners often signified their commitment with collaring; the dom gifting the sub with a unique collar while switches like Yuuri’s parents wore wrist bands.

Since his presentation, seeing the love and connection between Hiroko and Toshiya had taken on a bittersweet edge for Yuuri. When it had been confirmed that Yuuri’s inability to scene and fall into subspace was a chronic problem, he’d had to confront reality: Yuuri would likely never have a relationship and there was no possibility he would find a bond. It had been a devastating realization. It had taken understanding he couldn’t have a partner for Yuuri to realize how much he wanted one.

_You could have one now,_ the traitorous voice in the back of his head whispered, _Because of Victor. With Vict-_

Yuuri quickly cut off that dangerous train of thought. What had happened with Victor was likely a fluke. It didn’t mean anything _._ Nothing. It meant _nothing_. And maybe if Yuuri repeated it enough to himself, he would start believing it.

* * *

After a soak in the hot springs and a delicious dinner with his family, Yuuri felt better. Cozy, full, and still smiling from Mari’s wry stories of the most unusual items that had been left behind by onsen guests, Yuuri snuggled into bed and was asleep within minutes.

The next morning, Yuuri woke up slowly. He was comfortable and warm. He didn’t want to leave his bed even though the sunlight spilling in through his window told him it was time to get up. Yuuri yawned and stretched, arching his back, and as his hips shifted against his duvet, he felt a shiver of heat run along his spine and curl low in his gut.

Yuuri ran a hand down his bare chest and over his cock and was surprised to find he was half-hard. For Yuuri, sex was too tangled up with his failures as a sub for it to be something he had positive associations with.

Due to his anxiety over being unable to enter subspace, the few times Yuuri’s scenes with doms had turned sexual, it had never been anything but awkward. Yuuri hadn’t felt comfortable or connected with his partners, and what little they’d done together hadn’t been pleasurable. Part of Yuuri thought he might never enjoy sex and consequently, he rarely masturbated. But today, his dark thoughts of past failures absent, Yuuri felt too good to stop.

Closing his eyes, Yuuri pressed the heel of his palm against his cock and rolled his hips up. He did it again and bit his lip at the buzz of arousal that began to build inside of him. His cock hardened even further and eventually, touches over the fabric of his sleep pants weren’t enough.

Pushing his pants off of his hips, Yuuri wrapped his hand around his bare cock and gave it a firm stroke. Yuuri gasped at the sensation, at the jolt of pleasure that spiked through him. It felt amazing and Yuuri stroked again, his hips rocking up to meet his hand.

Keeping his mind blank, Yuuri focused on what he was feeling - on the flames of need licking across his skin. On the way his cock throbbed in his hand with each stroke, pre-cum slicking the way. On the way his breaths came in pants as the tension built, his movements becoming feverish.

Yuuri was close, he could feel it - his orgasm was nearly within reach.

Yuuri’s eyes fluttered open as he chased his completion, his hand moving rapidly over his aching cock, and the first thing his gaze landed on was one of his posters of Victor. Yuuri was instantly besieged by memories. Of Victor’s hand on his forehead, brushing his hair back. Of Victor’s voice commanding Yuuri to kneel. Of the shape of Victor’s lips as he praised Yuuri.

Yuuri’s mind latched on to the images and spun them even further.

Yuuri remembered his lips closing around Victor’s thumb and the way Victor’s skin tasted against his tongue. He pictured what would have happened if Victor had pushed his finger in further and allowed Yuuri to suck. Maybe next he would have given Yuuri another finger to suck on, but soon, it wouldn’t have been enough for either of them. Unzipping his pants, Victor would have given Yuuri his cock.

Yuuri moaned and the hand that wasn’t stroking his erection thumbed at one of his nipples, before pinching it. The bright spark of pain caused his cock to jerk in his hand. Yuuri wondered what Victor’s cock looked like. Did the silky-smooth skin there taste different? Would Yuuri like the feel and weight of a cock in his mouth? Yuuri thought he would if it was Victor’s. Yuuri would have licked and sucked Victor’s shaft and Victor’s hand in his hair would have tightened. He would have directed Yuuri’s movements, until he was eventually fucking Yuuri’s mouth, making Yuuri fight for every breath. When Victor came, it would have been on Yuuri’s face. “ _Beautiful_ ,” he would have said. “ _So good for me.”_ And then- _“Come for me, Yuuri._ ”

It was the thought of Victor’s command, of his _permission_ , that sent Yuuri spiraling over the edge. His spine arched as he came, cock twitching in his hand and warm come spurting onto his stomach as his climax rolled through him like an ocean wave.

Eyes closed, Yuuri lay there, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He’d never had an orgasm that good. In its wake, his mind was blank and his body languid. Yuuri felt spectacular. In fact, he felt a little bit like he had after coming out of subspace.

Subspace.

Yuuri’s eyes flew open as he remembered which memory he’d used to get himself off.

Oh god. What had he done? He’d taken Victor’s platonic gesture, his selfless willingness to help a fellow competitor, and perverted it. This _fixation_ he had with Victor had to stop before it got dangerous.

Shame and guilt swirled through Yuuri and he grabbed a dirty t-shirt off of the floor, using it to wipe the evidence off of his stomach with shaking hands. He couldn’t believe he’d done that. But he had. And worst of all, Yuuri knew it would be nearly impossible to stop himself from doing it again. It had been too visceral. Too good. The next time he touched himself, Yuuri knew it would be to thoughts of Victor and with Victor’s name on his lips as he came.

Victor, who Yuuri could never have.

Yuuri rolled over onto to his stomach and screamed into his pillow. He was screwed.

* * *

**Sapporo, Japan, December 24th  
** **Japanese Nationals**

It was the final day of Nationals and Yuuri was due to skate last during the Men’s free skate. He’d skated his short program yesterday and had ended the day in first place. As long as he made no major errors during today’s skate, Yuuri would secure his place at Four Continents and Worlds. And although Yuuri was favored to win and felt good - he had no spacing sickness symptoms - he was still nervous as he waited for the skater before him to finish his program.

Yuuri hated losing. He’d always had. Which was unfortunate because he’d spent most of the past four years doing it. But no longer. Yuuri could do this. He knew he could. And apparently, so did Victor.

Victor, who had expected Yuuri to make it onto the podium at the GPF final. Victor, who Yuuri would have a chance to see again if he qualified for Worlds today.

Absentmindedly, Yuuri trailed his fingers along the side of his face, down his neck, and across his collarbones, tracing the path Victor’s fingers had taken as Yuuri had kneeled. It helped, calming the most severe of the butterflies in his stomach and loosening his muscles.

The skater before Yuuri got his scores and then it was Yuuri’s turn.

Yuuri skated out onto the ice. Yes. He could do this. He could win.

_No more losing._

* * *

“You did well today, Yuuri.”

Hours after Yuuri had won gold, he and Celestino were at the airport, preparing to board their flight. It would be a long trip with two layovers - one in Tokyo and one in Chicago - before they landed in Detroit, but with the time difference, it would still be Christmas morning when they got back.

“Thank you, Coach,” Yuuri said.

“And now we have to start thinking about Four Continents and Worlds.”

“About that-” Yuuri broke off and took a breath, mustering his courage. “I have some ideas for what we should change in my programs.”

“Oh?” said Celestino, raising both eyebrows. “You’ve never wanted to be involved choreography before.”

“I know. But I think I’m ready.” When Yuuri had been struggling with his orientation, having Celestino make the big decisions about his themes, music, and routines had been a welcome relief. But now Yuuri felt ready take back that control. He wanted to start skating on this own terms again.

Celestino smiled at him. “I’m proud of you, Yuuri. Everything you’ve gone through - you haven’t let it stop you. I’m glad you’re finally confident enough to show the way skate when you’re alone to the rest of the world. Let’s hear those ideas.”

* * *

Twenty-one long hours later, Celestino and Yuuri touched down at Detroit Metro Airport and made their way through customs and baggage. As soon as Yuuri stepped out of the arrivals gate, he was nearly bowled over by someone throwing themselves into his arms for a fierce hug.

“Welcome home, Yuuri!” exclaimed Phichit.

Yuuri hugged Phichit back just as hard before letting him go and stepping back. “Phichit! What are you doing here? I thought you were going home for winter break.”

“I was supposed to, but at the last minute, my parents decided to go on a couples’ cruise for the holidays. Without me.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri said.

“Don’t be! Now I get to spend Christmas and New Years with my badass, GPF-medaling best friend.” Phichit paused and turned towards Celestino. “And of course you too, Ciao Ciao. Hi! Welcome back!”

“Phichit,” Celestino greeted, clearly amused by the enthusiastic reunion he’d just witnessed. “It’s good to see you too.”

* * *

Christmas day passed by quietly, with Yuuri and Phichit joining a few of the other skaters from their rink at Celestino’s house for an early dinner. Afterwards, Yuuri and Phichit went back to their apartment and made eggnog (with Yuuri looking the other way as an underage Phichit spiked his) before curling up on the couch to exchange gifts and catch up.

Yuuri told Phichit about the Sochi, being home, and Nationals, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell Phichit about Victor putting him into subspace. Phichit (who was a dom) knew all about Yuuri’s problems with subspace, but this felt too private to share. Because even though Yuuri hated that his idol had seen him so vulnerable, their actual scene together had been lovely. And Yuuri had thought about it - imagining the interaction both innocently and _less_ innocently - more often than he cared to admit.

Eventually, the time difference got the better of him, and Yuuri couldn’t finish his sentences without pausing for yawns. Wishing Phichit a good night, Yuuri went to bed. Glancing at his clock on phone, Yuuri noticed it was near midnight. It was almost the 26th. And suddenly, Yuuri remembered. Today wasn’t only Christmas. It was also Victor’s birthday.

Yuuri opened Twitter. After Sochi, Victor had followed Yuuri on all of his various, little-used social media accounts. It meant Yuuri could now message Victor if he wanted to. Yuuri’s finger hovered over the little envelope button on Victor’s profile as he debated with himself.

His message didn’t have to be anything complicated. Just a simple, innocuous “Happy Birthday.” But then Yuuri remembered the dozens of other well-wishing tweets from fellow skaters and fans he’d seen when he’d first opened the app. His stomach sank.

There was no way Victor would care whether or not _Yuuri_ of all people wished him happy birthday. While their brief interaction had meant everything to Yuuri, Victor had probably forgotten about it the minute he’d left Sochi. Any message Yuuri sent Victor would be lost among the many others and likely left unanswered.

Yuuri exited out of the app.

* * *

The days between Christmas and New Years passed unremarkably. With no schoolwork to worry about, Yuuri spent as much time as possible at the rink, practicing and refining the agreed upon changes to his short and free skates. Yuuri was also determined to add a second quad to his repertoire of jumps. He tackled mastering the quad salchow with an unflinching determination that left him tired and bruised at the end of most days. But it was the good kind of pain, the kind of hurt that meant Yuuri’s body was learning and adapting. And by mid-January, Yuuri landed it more often than not.

In between practices, Yuuri watched Victor easily defend his title at Russian Nationals. After hours, when there was no one to see him do it, Yuuri practiced the quad flip. It was reckless and dangerous to be practicing a jump with no supervision or guidance but Yuuri did it anyways. He felt like he had to.

It was a month before Four Continents when things started to go wrong.

At first, Yuuri didn’t recognize what was happening. He began to tire more quickly at practice, but he chalked it up to stress. Then the progress he was making on his programs faltered. Yuuri fell more often, and at times he wondered if was worth it to get back up.

As the days passed, Yuuri’s condition worsened. He tossed and turned at night, unable to sleep. He lost his appetite and had to force himself to eat. On the ice he felt weak and sluggish.

The morning Yuuri shattered his favorite mug because it slipped out of his trembling hands, he knew he couldn’t ignore what was happening any longer. Yuuri was going into subspace withdrawal.

His eyes hot from barely restrained tears of frustration, Yuuri knelt on the kitchen floor and began picking up the remnants of his mug. He’d managed to keep himself together for a month, but now he was falling apart again. He was weak. Deficient. How had he let himself believe otherwise?

Throwing away the last of his mug, Yuuri sat back down on the floor and leaned against the cabinets, his head tilted back and eyes closed. Four Continents was in three weeks and he had two choices. Yuuri could take a dose of ASIMs or he could find a dom to scene with.

The last time Yuuri had sought out a dom with the intent of scening had been three years ago - before it had been determined that no matter how hard he tried, Yuuri would never fall into subspace. But now things were different. Because of Victor, Yuuri knew he _could_ get to subspace.

He’d avoided thinking about the implications of his scene with Victor for weeks. A part of Yuuri was still convinced it was an accident; that he wasn’t fixed and when he next tried to scene, it would end in disaster as usual. And then there was the other part of Yuuri - the secret, wistful part - that was desperate to keep the memory of his scene with Victor intact. Worried it would make him forget the details of his time with Victor, that part of Yuuri rebelled against the thought of scening with anyone else.

But no matter how much Yuuri wished otherwise, Victor wasn’t here. Yuuri had to decide on a course of action before his symptoms got any worse. Ultimately, the choice between the partial symptom relief of ASIMs and the calming joy of subspace was an easy one. Yuuri would try to scene.

* * *

That night found Yuuri - his hair slicked back and wearing tighter jeans than normal - at one of the many clubs designed to bring together doms, subs, and switches looking to scene. He received his blue wristband identifying him as a sub and made his way inside dimly-lit interior.

The large first floor looked like a regular club, with a bar and lounge area connected to a dance floor, but Yuuri knew things got progressively less innocuous as you climbed the levels of the building. The floors above featured areas and instruments for public scenes, stages for performances and demonstrations, and rooms stocked with essentials for those who wished to scene in private.

Swallowing down his nervousness, Yuuri made his way to the bar, sliding into an empty seat. His heart beat was loud and fast, its rhythm outpacing the pulse of the music. He didn’t want to be here.

Yuuri knew he could have asked Phichit to scene with him (Phichit had offered early on in their friendship), but as much as Yuuri loved him, he hated the thought of Phichit seeing him in submission. Or worse, seeing him _fail_ at submission. What if it made Phichit think of Yuuri differently? What if he realized how weak Yuuri was? What if Phichit ended up _pitying_ him? It would be horrible. No. It was better to try this with a stranger - someone Yuuri would never have to see again if things went badly.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Yuuri turned towards the voice. Leaning against the bar next to him was a woman. Tall and willowy, her long blonde hair fell in waves past her shoulders. She was lovely, but Yuuri felt nothing more than a vague appreciation for her looks. No spark. No desire. But Yuuri needed a dom and the woman’s red wristband marked the her as one.

Yuuri blinked at her, his mouth falling open in surprise before he pulled himself together. “Sh- Sure. I’ll have a club soda.”

She flagged down the bartender and ordered before turning back to Yuuri. “I’m Kiera.”

“Hi, Kiera,” Yuuri said, mustering up a smile, “I’m Yuuri.”

She smiled back at him. “Nice to meet you, Yuuri. I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you new to the area?”

“N- No. I live here, I just don’t-” Yuuri trailed off, his cheeks heating.

Kiera laughed. “Look at that blush. You’re adorable. And lovely. When I first saw you, I couldn’t believe you were here alone.”

Flushing even further, Yuuri mustered his courage and looked Kiera in the eyes. “Yes, I came alone, but I wasn’t planning on ending the night that way.”

Kiera’s smile widened. “Bold. I like that in sub. Would you want to go upstairs with me, Yuuri? To a room, maybe?”

Yuuri hesitated. Was he going to go through with this? Stalling, Yuuri lifted his club soda to his mouth for a sip and as he did so, the tremor in his hand reminded him of his reality. Yuuri didn’t have a choice.

“Yes,” he said.

Yuuri followed Kiera up the stairs to the second floor of the club. As they walked, Yuuri’s gaze was a caught by a sub stripped to the waist and bound to a St. Andrew’s cross as a dom flicked a whip across his back. In another alcove, two doms worked to restrain a nude sub with an intricate pattern of rope bondage. At a table, a fully dressed dom talked with friends as his sub knelt between his feet and warmed his cock.

Yuuri watched it all with a wide-eyed gaze. He couldn’t tell if he was aroused or terrified, curious or nervous.

Finally, they reached the section of the floor with private rooms and Kiera led him inside of one. It was a simple room painted in dark blue. It's only adornments were a bed, chest of drawers, and wall full of meticulously organized BDSM implements.

Kiera walked over to him and cupped his cheek. “What do you want, Yuuri?”

_Victor_ , Yuuri thought as he decided whether he wanted to lean into Kiera’s touch or away from it. But that wasn’t an option.

“I- I want-” he paused and licked his lips. “Something simple,” Yuuri said, his voice a whisper. “Bondage, some commands.”

Kiera smiled. “Okay, we can do that.”

Kiera had Yuuri kneel and close his eyes as she began to bind his arms together behind his back with a length of soft fabric. It was a detailed pattern, one that would restrain Yuuri wrists to shoulders when she was done. But instead of calming him, the longer she worked, the more agitated Yuuri felt. Something wasn’t right. It wasn't at all like kneeling for Victor.

Yuuri’s mind raced, his thoughts spinning without finding solid ground. His breathing sped up as he struggled to get enough air into his lungs. His heart pounded and the binding around his arms felt like a vice. He needed to stop, to leave, to curl up in his bed and sob. Yuuri could feel himself shaking, but he couldn’t seem to speak. It felt like his voice was gone, trapped inside him. His eyes were still closed and all he saw was an unending void of blackness.

And then a touch to his face made Yuuri flinch.

“Yuuri, are you alright?”

The question sparked something in him and Yuuri was able to find his voice. “No,” he gasped. “No. Stop, please, stop.”

“Okay, okay. Just keep breathing for me.”

Yuuri felt the bindings around his arms start to loosen and whimpered in relief when they were completely gone.

“There you go.”

Yuuri was gently pulled against a body. He stiffened for a moment, but when no arms tried to cage him in, he relaxed into the contact. With the warmth of Kiera’s body against his and her gentle murmurs of reassurance in his ear, Yuuri gradually stabilized. His heart rate and breathing returned to normal and his blind panic receded, allowing for the return of rational thought. And as his fear drained away, it was replaced with shame and embarrassment.

Opening his eyes, Yuuri’s gaze settled on Kiera who was watching him, her eyes filled with concern.

“How are you feeling, Yuuri?” Kiera asked.

“Better,” Yuuri said, looking down, humiliation at his failure coursing through him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should never have come here. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Yuuri. Do you want to talk about what went wrong? Maybe we can wait a little bit and try again.”

“No,” Yuuri said, not even having to think about it. His stomach roiled and he shivered, his entire body rebelling against the thought of trying to scene again. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can.”

“Oh honey,” Kiera said, her mouth curving into a sad smile. “Who are you trying to forget?”

“What?”

“I’ve seen this type of reaction before - doms and subs with a particularly intense relationship having trouble scening with other partners when it ends.”

“We don’t have a relationship,” he said without thinking. Because of course, Yuuri’s mind had jumped straight to Victor.

Kiera smiled. “Then he’s an idiot.”

Yuuri shook his head as his mind turned Kiera’s words over and over. His scene with Kiera had been similar to the one he’d had with Victor. Yuuri should have been able to get to subspace. But instead, he’d nearly had a panic attack. And his reaction today had been worse than any other time he’d tried to scene. Why?

_What if I imprinted on Victor somehow?_ Yuuri thought, dread washing over him. _What if Victor is the only dom that can put me in subspace?_

* * *

When Yuuri got back to his apartment, the first thing he did was dig his bottle of ASIMs out from the back of the bathroom cabinet. He’d hidden them there weeks ago, hoping he would never need to take them again.

Yuuri opened the bottle and shook a pill into his hand. He gazed at it, despising everything it stood for - his failure, his weakness, his lack of control. Yuuri didn’t want to take it, but he was out of options.

With a grimace, Yuuri swallowed the pill, washing it down with a sip of water. He hoped it would be enough.

* * *

**Taipei, Taiwan, February 5th  
** **The day before Four Continents**

Yuuri followed Phichit and Celestino into the lobby of the hotel. It had been another long flight and Yuuri felt restless after over 20 hours spent sitting. While both Phichit and Celestino looked ready to settle into their rooms, shower, and maybe nap, Yuuri knew he couldn’t relax right now. He bristled with too much frenetic energy, his thoughts a jumbled mess of worry and fear mixed with a flinty resolve to live up to expectations over the next few days.

The past weeks had been difficult. Taking the ASIMs hadn’t erased Yuuri’s spacing sickness symptoms, just reduced them, and he had also struggled with the ASIM’s side effects. Yuuri had tried to push himself and stay on his training schedule, but there were some days where his body refused to listen to him. He tired easily, lost count of his jump rotations, or was too dizzy to execute his spins. And to make everything worse, Yuuri hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Victor.

It had been three painful, frustrating weeks, but Yuuri had survived. He was _here_ and now that he was, all he wanted to do was skate.

Yuuri pulled up the Four Continents schedule on his phone and saw there was an hour and half left of a closed door practice at the arena.

“Phichit, Coach, I think I’m going to go to the rink.”

“Yuuri, are you sure?” Celestino asked, his brow creased in concern - the same expression he’d been wearing for the past few weeks.

“Yes, I need to get out of my head,” Yuuri said.

“Ok, Yuuri. But mark your jumps if you’re not feeling up to them. It wouldn’t do to injure yourself right before the competition.”

“Yes, Coach.”

Phichit offered to take Yuuri’s bag to their room, so Yuuri grabbed his skates and headed towards to the rink.

An hour later, Yuuri was exhausted, sweaty, and finally feeling more like himself. Being alone on the ice had quieted the cacophony of voices in his head for the time being.

His mind still focused on his routines, Yuuri barely paid attention to his surroundings as he walked back to the hotel. So when Yuuri rounded a corner, he noticed the person right in front of him moments too late to stop their collision.

Yuuri’s hands landed on a firm chest and a hand gripped Yuuri’s waist before they both overbalanced. They landed on the ground and while Yuuri’s fall was broken by the body underneath him, the other person wasn’t as lucky.

“Ow,” said a familiar voice and Yuuri’s head jerked up. His gazed collided with ocean-blue eyes and Yuuri stared, speechless, at Victor Nikiforov.

“Wow, Yuuri. Tackling competitors? How very Tonya Harding of you. I know you want gold at Worlds, but this going a little far, don’t you think?” Victor said, his lips curved in a grin. Victor's hand was still resting on Yuuri’s hip, his fingers brushing bare skin where Yuuri's shirt had ridden up, and Yuuri felt the touch like a brand.

Yuuri blinked at Victor, shocked by his sudden appearance. Victor couldn’t compete at Four Continents, so why was he here? And then Yuuri processed Victor’s words and realized he was still sprawled on top of him, their bodies pressed together toe to chest. Victor was hard and warm underneath him and all Yuuri wanted was to press even closer, to dip his head and trace the contours of Victor’s heart-shaped smile with his lips-

Yuuri jerked himself back as if burned and scrambled to his feet. He extended a hand and helped Victor up. “Oh my god, Victor. Are you okay?”

“Worried about me, Yuuri?” Victor asked, taking a step closer.

“Y- Yes,” Yuuri said, taking a step back until he was pressed against the wall of the hallway. If Yuuri had injured Victor Nikiforov, the figure skating community would never forgive him. Hell, Yuuri would never forgive himself.

Victor moved closer until he was mere inches from Yuuri. He lifted his hand and laid it on the wall beside Yuuri’s head, effectively boxing Yuuri in. “If I was hurt, would you offer to kiss it better?”

“ _What_ ?!"

“It’s just a suggestion. I’ll let you think about it.”

Victor’s grin was almost predatory, but Yuuri didn’t want to run. No. He wanted to tilt his head back and expose his neck. He wanted to Victor to take the offered surrender and mark Yuuri’s neck with his lips, with his teeth.

Yuuri licked his suddenly dry lips and Victor’s eyes dropped to follow the motion. The air between them seemed to crackle and snap, the tension mounting until Yuuri broke it.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice soft.

Victor blinked, looking perplexed - as if he hadn’t expected the question. “I- I’m here to see my competition in person. To prepare for Worlds. Which I am very concerned about. Yes, Worlds. And the competition.”

“That’s why you flew 14 hours? To observe your competitors? Like JJ?” Yuuri asked, his head tilted in confusion. Something about Victor’s explanation seemed off.

“Who?”

Yuuri couldn’t help it, he laughed.

Victor leaned in. “Yuuri, I wanted to-”

Victor’s sentence was cut off as a phone started ringing. It took Yuuri a moment to realize it was his. He fumbled his phone out of his jacket pocket and answered it, his gaze still locked with Victor’s.

“Hi, Phichit.”

“Yuuri! Where are you? Did you get lost on the way back from the rink? We’re supposed to meet Leo and Guang Hong for dinner, remember?”

“Right! Sorry, I’m coming. Be there in a few minutes.”

“See you soon!”

“Bye,” Yuuri said and hung up. “Victor, I have to-”

“Yes, of course,” Victor said, taking a step back. His smile was gone. “You have to go.”

Yuuri watched Victor’s retreat with a sinking stomach. He’d spent so much time thinking about Victor and now he was _here._

_But it’s not as if he’s here for me_ , Yuuri reminded himself. So although Yuuri didn’t want their conversation to end, maybe it was for the best.

“Goodbye, Victor.”

“Goodnight, Yuuri,” Victor said. “And good luck tomorrow. I’ll be watching.”

* * *

It was nearing midnight when Yuuri’s phone buzzed, its screen lighting up bright in the dark hotel room. Phichit was sound asleep in the next bed, but although Yuuri was lying in bed as well, he was wide awake. He kept reliving his run-in and conversation with Victor in his head, trying to figure out what it meant - if it meant anything at all. And every time Yuuri thought about the hard press of Victor’s body against his, he felt flushed all over. He wanted... he wanted _Victor_ , anyway he could have him.

Reaching for his phone, Yuuri saw Chris had finally responded to his earlier messages.

Yuuri read the message and nearly dropped his phone on his face in shock. Why would Chris send him Victor’s room number? Oh god. Did Chris think Yuuri would _go_ to Victor’s room? Unannounced and uninvited? Why? Why would Chris- And then Yuuri remembered Chris’s observation at the banquet.

_"I didn’t know you and Victor knew each other… I couldn’t help noticing how… relaxed you look on the ice today, Yuuri.”_  
  
So yes, Chris had a good reason to think Yuuri would want Victor’s room number. But of course, Chris was mistaken. Yuuri didn’t want it. Well, no, that was a lie. Yuuri desperately wanted it. He wanted nothing more than to go to Victor, to act on this thing inside of him - this yawning chasm of need that Victor had opened with his actions in Sochi. But Yuuri knew he couldn’t. Victor didn’t feel that way about him. So no matter how much he wanted Victor’s room number, nothing good could come from Yuuri having it. But thanks to Chris, Yuuri did have it. He knew the knowledge would haunt him. It was temptation incarnate.

Yuuri exited out of his messages app and leaned over to plug in his phone. It took him a few tries because he kept missing the charging port. Eventually, Yuuri managed to connect his charger and as he drew his hand away, he realized the reason he’d had so much trouble was because his fingers were trembling.

Yuuri rolled on his back and held up his hand in front of him, fingers splayed, and watched. Nothing.

Yuuri breathed out a sigh of relief. He was fine. He was exhausted, it was no wonder he’d fumbled for so long with the charging cord. But just as Yuuri was about to drop his hand and try to sleep, there it was again - a small tremor. It was barely noticeable, but there. After a few seconds it subsided, but Yuuri knew it would be back and accompanied by other symptoms.

_No, not again_ , Yuuri thought, panic swooping through him. Yuuri curled his hand into a fist. He wasn’t going to let this happen. He wasn’t going to let his orientation define him.

" _His room number is 968._ "

By some great cosmic coincidence, the solution to his problem was here, in this hotel - ready and waiting if Yuuri was brave enough to go after him.

_Damned if do, damned if don’t._

Images and sensations flashed through Yuuri’s mind. His pain in his knees as he knelt for Victor. The beauty of subspace. Victor’s fingers wrapped around his wrist. Calm. Yuuri’s hand curled around his own cock and Victor’s name on his lips as he came. Bliss. Victor’s body pressed against his. A want so fierce it made Yuuri ache.

Whatever his decision - stay or go - Yuuri was likely to regret it in the morning, so he might as well make the choice every cell in his body was screaming for.

Mind made up, Yuuri rolled out of bed and got dressed, moving carefully so as not to wake Phichit. He then slipped out of his hotel room and walked to the elevators. Inside the elevator, he pressed the button for the ninth floor.

After what seemed like an eternity, the elevator stopped moving and the doors opened with a soft _ding._ Yuuri stepped out and began walking down the long hallway.

_965, 966, 967, 968._

Yuuri stopped outside of Victor’s room. His heart was racing, the pounding of his blood loud in his ears. Yuuri raised his hand. He knocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys sorry this is a few days late, I had a busy weekend!! And I know that this chapter was more of a filler chapter, but I really needed to get it - and the scenes/backstory in it - out of the way before we could get to the good stuff! And I’m extra sorry about ending the chapter where I did, but it would have been way too long if I had included the next scene!! Hopefully, it’ll be worth the wait ;) ;) Chap 4 should be out in 6-8 days. Thanks for reading!


	4. Four

The door swung open and there was Victor. The only thing he wore was a pair of grey, soft-looking sleep pants. Yuuri’s gaze skittered across Victor’s chest. He took in the expanse of bare skin and defined musculature before jerking his gaze back up to meet Victor’s. Victor, who was staring at Yuuri, blue eyes wide and full lips parted in surprise.

“Yuuri,” said Victor. “Hi.”

“Can I come in?” Yuuri asked.

“Yes, of course,” Victor said, moving back and gesturing Yuuri inside.

Yuuri stepped across the threshold. The door swung closed behind him with a thud that reverberated in the quiet room. Yuuri tried to keep his heart rate under control. He was in Victor Nikiforov’s hotel room, alone with Victor. Who was half naked. Oh god. Why had Yuuri thought this was a good idea?

“Can I get you something to drink?”

Yuuri’s gaze flew to Victor, who stood in the middle of room. The distance between them seemed insurmountable. It felt like an ocean separated them rather than a few feet of carpet.

“N- No, thank you,” Yuuri said and silence reigned.

Victor’s eyes held his, his gaze thoughtful and unwavering. Yuuri stared back, caught and pinned in place by the intensity he saw there. That nameless _thing_ \- the invisible thrum that had sprung up between them earlier today - was back. And then Victor moved, closing the distance between them in a few strides.

Victor cupped Yuuri’s face and Yuuri couldn’t stop his sharp intake of breath at the sudden touch. This. This was what he needed. Victor touching him. For Victor to always be touching him.

“Yuuri, is everything okay?”

“No,” Yuuri whispered, leaning Victor’s touch as his muscles unwound, shoulders dropping from their rigid set. Yuuri wasn’t okay. He was scraped thin, a body full of fissures and cracks. But Victor- Victor was the molten gold ready to be poured into his breaks and stitch them back together.

“Tell me,” Victor said.

The quiet streak of command threading through his voice made Yuuri shiver. The hand that wasn’t stroking Yuuri’s cheek moved to curl around his waist, fingers slipping under the edge of Yuuri’s shirt. Yuuri felt himself relax even further, melting into the embrace.

“I-” Yuuri said, his voice breaking. He laid his shaking hands on Victor’s chest, on Victor’s warm, bare skin. The trembling stopped. Yuuri spread his fingers, curling them into firm muscle, mesmerized by the sensation. Victor’s hand around his waist tightened in response, pulling Yuuri even closer.

Yuuri stayed silent. He didn’t know how to ask Victor for this. He didn’t know how to put the enormity of what he needed into words.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Yuuri,” Victor coaxed. “Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’ll give it to you. I promise.”

“Scene with me. Put me in subspace,” Yuuri said, Victor’s touch making him brave.

“Oh,” Victor said, sounding a touch surprised. But then he smiled, slow and sensuous. “ _Oh_. Of course, Yuuri. How do you want me to? Do you want to kneel again?” Yuuri’s dissatisfaction with the suggestion must have shown on his face because Victor paused, his gaze sharpening. “Or do you want something more?”

“More,” Yuuri said. He knew kneeling wouldn’t be enough for him. Not after weeks spent imagining this moment.

“What do you want, Yuuri?”

“I want you to touch me,” he said without pause. It was all Yuuri could think about, Victor’s hands on his skin, on his chest, trailing lower until they-

“Where?” Victor asked, already moving to comply with Yuuri’s request. He stroked down Yuuri’s neck to the hollow of his throat while his other hand skated along Yuuri’s back, rucking his shirt up. “Where should I touch you?”

“Wherever-” Yuuri broke off, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as Victor’s nails scratched lightly along the skin of his back, causing arousal to thrum through him. Licking his lips, Yuuri found his voice. “Wherever you want.”

“And if I want to touch you everywhere?”

“T-Then you should. It’s what I want too.”

Their gazes held for a charged moment before Victor stepped back, his hands dropping away from Yuuri. Yuuri immediately felt cold and the swirling mass of anxiety that had quieted with Victor’s proximity roared back to life. Did Victor want to stop? Did Victor want him to go? Yuuri stared at Victor, unease making his hands shake once more.

But instead of telling Yuuri to leave, Victor walked over to his suitcase and rummaged through it. Once he found what was looking for, Victor turned and strode back towards Yuuri. He held a blue silk tie in his hand. And instead of stopping in front of Yuuri, Victor kept walking until he stood behind him.

Victor was so close Yuuri could feel the warmth radiating from his body. Yuuri’s heart pounded and his breaths came quicker in anticipation.

“Close your eyes, Yuuri,” Victor said.

Yuuri obeyed, finding solace in the order. He then felt a pressure over his eyes as Victor moved to secure a length of cool, satiny-smooth material around Yuuri’s head as a blindfold.  _The tie,_ Yuuri thought as he started, surprised by the sudden increase in darkness.

Yuuri felt Victor pause his movements.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” Yuuri hadn’t expected the blindfold, but now that it was in place, Yuuri realized how comforting he found the idea.

Victor finished securing the tie. “Red to stop, yellow to slow down, and green to keep going. Alright?”

Yuuri nodded, his pulse pounding loud in his ears and his skin prickling with expectation.

“Good,” Victor said, sounding pleased. “You’re doing so well for me already, Yuuri.”

Victor’s praise washed over Yuuri, making him flush with pleasure. As Victor talked, his voice moved and Yuuri could tell he was walking, could hear him as he moved back in front Yuuri. And then-

Fingers toyed with the top button of Yuuri’s shirt and Victor, voice low and molten, asked, “Can I take this off, Yuuri?”

“Yes,” Yuuri said, wanting nothing more than to feel his bare skin against Victor’s.

Victor slipped the button through its hole before moving on to the next one and the next. With each new inch of his skin that was bared, Yuuri’s heart rate ratcheted up.

Finally, Victor worked the last button free of its hole and pushed Yuuri’s shirt off of his shoulders. It fell to the ground, leaving Yuuri bare to the waist. His nerves sang in anticipation of Victor’s touch, but when it came, it wasn’t to his chest as expected. No. Instead, Victor’s fingers trailed across Yuuri’s cheek again.

“That blush,” Victor said, “Every time I see it, I want to watch it spread, to trace its path down your body.” Victor’s hand skimmed down Yuuri’s throat and across his chest, and Yuuri shuddered, his knees weak and his body hungry for more. “What are you thinking about when you blush so, Yuuri? Are you thinking about this? About me?”

“Yes,” Yuuri admitted.

“That’s good,” Victor said and Yuuri could hear the smile in his voice, the satisfaction.

Victor’s fingers traced paths down Yuuri’s abdomen, making the muscles there spasm and jump, before dipping lower and lower until they met the edge of Yuuri’s jeans. Victor paused and circled the button there. “And can I take these off, Yuuri?”

Yuuri’s throat was dry when he tried to swallow and he could hear his breathing, loud and ragged in quiet of the room. Yuuri couldn’t seem to find his voice, so he nodded jerkily in response. He wanted this so badly he ached. He felt like he was balanced on a tightrope, muscles rigid and straining with tension.

“Good,” Victor said, pleased. He unbuttoned and unzipped Yuuri’s jeans, drawing them down Yuuri’s hips and taking Yuuri’s boxer-briefs with them.

Yuuri stepped aside. He was now completely bare apart from the silk tie covering his eyes. He was blindfolded, naked, and standing in the middle of Victor Nikiforov’s hotel room. He was also intensely, achingly hard - just from this, from Victor’s voice and a few simple touches. But Yuuri didn’t have time to be self-conscious about it, because as soon as he had finished divesting Yuuri of his clothes, Victor was there, his hands gripping Yuuri’s hips as he pressed close.

Yuuri clutched Victor’s shoulders for balance as their bodies aligned, toe to hip to chest. He gasped, electrified by the hard length of Victor’s body pressed against his - by the soft drag of the material of Victor’s sleep pants against Yuuri’s cock, by the way Victor’s nails dug into his hips in bright pinpricks of pleasure-pain.

“Beautiful,” Victor praised. “Lovely, I can't wait to touch every inch of you.”

Victor took a step forward and then another, forcing Yuuri backwards. Off balance, he stumbled and the backs of his legs collided with something. Victor let go of him and Yuuri fell backwards, landing on the plush expanse of the bed with a gasp as the breath was knocked out of him.

Quick as a flash, Victor was there, catching Yuuri’s wrists in his hands and pinning them to the bed, his grip hard and restraining. The sudden constraint sent a jolt of pure heat lancing through Yuuri and he arched into Victor with moan, his body testing the limits of Victor’s control. Victor’s fingers tightened around Yuuri’s wrists and he felt dizzy with it, inundated by the sensation of being held firmly in place.

“Okay?” Victor asked, breathless.

“Green, green,” Yuuri gasped.

“Good,” Victor said, shifting and settling into his position astride Yuuri’s hips.

Yuuri could feel Victor was hard too. The knowledge that Victor was just as affected as he was made Yuuri’s blood burn and his cock throb.

And then Victor began to loosen his grip on Yuuri’s wrist as if preparing to draw away.

“No,” Yuuri said, panicked. “No, _please_.”

“Shh, zolotse. Give me a moment-”

Something silken - _another tie?_ \- was wrapped around Yuuri’s wrists, tying them together and then stretching them tight. When Yuuri tried to move his hands, he couldn’t. Victor must have secured them to the headboard. It was good, so good. Yuuri still felt anchored, but now Victor’s hands were free, free to-

Victor’s fingers skimmed down Yuuri’s chest and wrapped around his cock, giving it a quick stroke.

Yuuri’s hips bucked up into the touch as he writhed, heat licking across his body and threatening to consume him.

Victor stopped touching his cock and Yuuri whined, bereft. _More. I need more. Please-_

“Gorgeous, Yuuri. Even better than I’d imagined,” Victor said, moving to continue his tortuous exploration of Yuuri’s chest. "And I imagined quite a bit."

He grazed over one of Yuuri’s nipples and Yuuri moaned.

_Yes, yes, yes-_

Victor paused, fingers circling and playing with Yuuri’s nipples for long moments before he pinched. The pain was hard, bright, and good. Yuuri bit his bottom lip to keep from shouting and tasted blood.

Yuuri’s lip was gently tugged from between his teeth.

“Don’t,” Victor said. “I want to hear you. I love the way you sound. There’s a part of me that wants to see those pretty lips stretched around a gag, but I would miss the noises you make when I touch somewhere particularly sensitive.”

Yuuri couldn’t stop picturing it - everything Victor could do to him, everything Yuuri would _let_ him do - and it was like pouring gasoline on the flames of his arousal. Yuuri was so hard he was leaking, his cock dripping pre-cum onto his stomach.

Then Victor’s lips closed around Yuuri’s nipple, sucking and biting.

This time Yuuri did shout. His back bowed as he simultaneously tried to move towards and away from Victor’s mouth. His nipples were sensitive and sore and it _hurt_ but it was so, so good. Yuuri’s head spun, pleasure and pain mixing together so thoroughly Yuuri didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

“Lovely. You’re doing so well for me, Yuuri.”

Victor licked and sucked at the skin over Yuuri’s collarbone and Yuuri felt the edge of Victor’s teeth as he marked him before moving to Yuuri’s shoulder and his throat and repeating his actions. Everywhere Victor touched, Yuuri’s skin throbbed - each sting of pain bold, brilliant, and consuming. Yuuri knew he would have bruises tomorrow.

Victor moved, laying a trail of marks across Yuuri’s chest and abdomen. And then Victor’s nails dug into the vulnerable skin of Yuuri’s flank and raked down in five perfect, electrifying lines of pain.   

Yuuri moaned as he thrashed, wrists aching as he pulled against his restraints. _Yesyesyes. Close, he was so close-_

Victor’s touches slowed and softened until his fingers barely grazed Yuuri as they traced light patterns onto his sweat-slicked, oversensitive skin.

Yuuri almost wept from the loss. He needed-

“I’ve dreamed about this, you know,” Victor said. “About you bare and bound for me. About being able to touch you wherever and however I want.” Victor paused. “About you begging me not to stop. Because you would beg if I stopped, wouldn’t you, zolotse?”

And then Victor did the unthinkable. He stopped touching Yuuri.

Yuuri couldn’t bear it. “Victor,” he rasped, voice hoarse from disuse. It was the first time Yuuri had said Victor’s name tonight and it was like a damn breaking. “Yes, Victor. Please, I need it,” he begged.

“Beautiful, Yuuri,” Victor said, voice gravely and wrecked. 

Yuuri wished he could see him.

Victor’s fingers pressed hard into the tender mark on Yuuri’s collarbone and it was a white-hot ache that made Yuuri gasp, his toes curling. _Good, it was so good-_

Yuuri couldn’t remember ever feeling like this. The soreness of his bound arms blurring with the hypersensitivity of his skin. His world narrowed to Victor’s firm weight pinning him to the bed, Victor’s fingers, and Victor’s mouth. It was overwhelming and every sensation was only magnified by the blindfold. Each new touch was a shock, a lightning bolt to Yuuri’s system.

“Victor, please-” Yuuri pleaded as Victor wound him tighter and tighter with each touch until he was in danger of shattering. Yuuri didn’t even know what he was asking for, but he knew Victor would give it to him - give Yuuri what he needed.

Gripping Yuuri’s hips to hold him in place, Victor sucked a bruise on Yuuri’s hipbone and then another on his lower abdomen, scant inches away from where Yuuri was desperate for Victor’s touch. As he marked the skin there, Victor’s hair brushed against Yuuri’s throbbing cock and Yuuri cried out.

Yuuri was close. He was balanced on the edge of a precipice and all it would take was one nudge - one touch - to send him hurtling over.

Victor’s fingers brushed his cock and that was it- Yuuri was going to come, practically untouched. His muscles tensed, his nerve-endings thrummed, and his blood sang.

“Victor, I’m going to-”

Victor’s hand circled tight around the base of Yuuri’s cock, stopping Yuuri’s orgasm in its tracks.

Yuuri yelled, convulsing. He felt like he was being torn apart at the seams, ripped apart by the contrasting sensations racing through him. He needed to come. He felt like he might die if he didn’t. Yuuri wanted to reach for his cock, to finish himself off, but he couldn’t. He was bound and at Victor’s mercy.

“Shh-” Victor soothed, running a hand through Yuuri’s hair. “You’re doing so well zolotse, but I need you to hold on a little longer. You want to be good for me, don’t you, Yuuri?”

“Yes,” Yuuri said, licking dry lips. “Yes.”

“Then you won’t come until I tell you. You can do that for me, can’t you, Yuuri?”

Yuuri nodded shakily, his muscles trembling with strain as he tried to bring himself back under control. If Victor wanted him to wait- Yuuri would do it.

“Good, Yuuri. Perfect,” Victor said and Yuuri melted, feeling Victor’s approval in his bones.

When Yuuri was no longer in danger of coming, Victor’s grip on his cock loosened and he began exploring Yuuri once more. Soft and slow at first - soothing strokes down his sides, gentle brushes across his nipples - but gradually increasing in intensity until nails dug into Yuuri’s tender nipples, teeth marked him, and fingers tugged sharply on his hair.

Stars danced across Yuuri’s darkened vision, making his head spin. It hurt, it ached, it felt sublime, and Yuuri was strung taut - ready to snap and desperate to come. He needed it. He needed it more than he needed his next breath.

But right as the sensations were about to become too much and push Yuuri over the edge, Victor stopped, retreating and returning to his barely-there touches.

Yuuri panted, his chest heaving and heart pounding as he wrestled for control of his body. Victor hadn’t given him permission yet.

“Good,” Victor purred. "You look gorgeous like this. And you're doing so well."

Yuuri flushed. Victor’s praise felt like champagne - sweet and heady.

And then Victor did it all over again, ratcheting up the tension with his touches until Yuuri was dangerously close to coming before backing off and denying Yuuri his orgasm once more.

Victor did it again and again and each time was more tortuous than the last.

Yuuri didn’t know how long it lasted. He was barely coherent. He knew he was begging, but he had no memory of what he was saying. Victor was talking too, but Yuuri couldn’t focus on the words.

Drowning in unending waves _want-pleasure-pain-need_ , Yuuri lost track of time. His muscles trembled. His blood boiled and Yuuri knew he was flushed everywhere. He was drenched in sweat, tasting the salt on lips. He leaked precum continuously and his cock was so hot and hard it hurt.

Yuuri was on fire and it felt like he would be devoured by it, immolated by his need. It was beautiful and terrible. It was everything Yuuri had ever wanted and had been terrified he would never get to have.

_Victor, Victor, Victor. More, please. I need it, I need you. I can’t-_

And right as Yuuri thought he wouldn’t be able to take it any longer, that any moment now - permission or no - he would shatter, Victor finally, _finally_ closed his fingers around Yuuri’s cock again.

Yuuri sobbed.

“You’ve been so lovely for me, so perfect,” Victor said, reverent. Victor stroked Yuuri’s cock, his grip firm and perfect and it was like nothing Yuuri had ever felt before. He wasn’t going to be able to last. The fire inside him burned hotter and hotter, coalescing into blaze Yuuri wasn’t able to fight anymore. Yuuri felt tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as Victor’s hand continued to move over his cock. He couldn’t, not yet- Yuuri tossed his head to the side as he bucked underneath Victor’s touch.

And then- Victor’s voice was solid and warm and his tone was one of unmistakable command. “Come for me, Yuuri,” he said and Yuuri did.

It was- Yuuri didn’t have the words to describe it. It was flames bursting into an inferno, it was the earth splitting as it quaked, it was the roaring waves of a tsunami crashing down. Yuuri broke, gasping Victor’s name like a benediction and back arching as he came and came, come painting his stomach in long, thick spurts.

Spent and panting, Yuuri collapsed back onto the bed, feeling boneless. There wasn’t a single point of tension left in his body. Yuuri was weightless, buoyant, and his mind was blissfully, familiarly blank.

_God, yes_. This was what Yuuri had needed.

Gentle fingers untied Yuuri’s hands and then he was being held against a warm chest, strong arms encircling him and making him feel secure. Yuuri’s blindfold was removed and Yuuri blinked, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the low light of the room.

When they did, Yuuri saw blue, blue, blue - Victor’s eyes - Victor, who was staring down at him, a soft smile on his face. “You did so well, Yuuri,” he said, fingers stroking through Yuuri’s hair, light and comforting. “You were so good for me.”

“Mmm,” Yuuri hummed, nuzzling into Victor’s bare chest. Victor smelled good - warm and golden with a hint of spicy-sweetness - and Yuuri wanted to live here, in the circle of Victor’s arms.

Yuuri’s mind felt cottony, his thoughts were disjointed and his limbs were heavy. His vision began to fade away and Yuuri realized he didn’t have the strength to keep his eyes open any longer.

“Perfect,” Victor said, his lips brushing across Yuuri’s forehead. “Gorgeous.”

Victor’s voice sounded far-off and as Yuuri slipped further into unconsciousness, he didn’t fight it.

* * *

Yuuri woke up warm, comfortable, and relaxed. He felt amazing, like he'd had the world’s best night of sleep. Yuuri stretched, noting the slight soreness in his muscles - the kind of ache that lingered after a good workout and was almost enjoyable.

That was when Yuuri felt something shift beside him and the pressure around his waist tighten. Yuuri looked down in alarm at the arm lying across his stomach. The bare, male arm connected to a body that was curled around him. A silver head rested in the crook of Yuuri’s shoulder and the sleep-warm breaths of the person twined around him puffed out against Yuuri’s neck.

Abruptly, it all came flooding back to him.

Yuuri showing up at Victor’s room and asking Victor to scene with him. Yuuri naked and bound to the bed. Yuuri coming harder than he’d ever had. Yuuri falling into subspace so deeply it had slipped into sleep.

_Oh god, this is bad. This is so bad._

Yuuri scrubbed a hand over his face. How could he have asked Victor for so much? Victor had offered to let Yuuri kneel for him again, but no. Yuuri apparently hadn’t had the self-control to stop himself from asking Victor for more. God. The things he’d done. The things he’d _said_.

Yuuri had invaded Victor’s hotel room in the middle of night and then _fallen asleep_ in Victor’s bed. And what had Victor gotten out of it? Nothing. Yuuri flushed with shame as he remembered that Victor hadn’t even come. Yuuri was the worst sub in the world.

It was still dark outside, not even dawn yet, and Victor was thankfully still asleep - his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. His hair was damp, like he had recently showered.

Yuuri stared at Victor for a moment, taking in the sight of him sleeping peacefully. He looked softer like this, more touchable, and Yuuri wanted to stay, to wake him up with a kiss, to slide the sheet covering Victor off and-

But, no. That wasn’t what this was.

The situation was simple. Victor had done him a favor and Yuuri had overstayed his welcome. So Yuuri needed to leave. Right now. Before he did something stupid.

Moving quietly and slowly so as to not wake Victor, Yuuri slid out from beneath Victor’s arm and rolled off of the bed.

Yuuri’s clothes were folded up on a chair and he dressed quickly. On the desk next to the chair was a pad of hotel stationary and Yuuri hesitated, staring at it. Before he could second guess himself, Yuuri picked up the pen and scrawled a note.

He then stole one more glance at Victor before opening the hotel room door, slipping outside, and shutting it softly behind him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I need to post on 11/29 in honor of Yuuri’s Bday!!!  
> Me: *Posts 3k of literally just porn* ...I guess Yuuri is celebrating by getting that D! 
> 
> Heyyy Friends!! This chapter was originally going to be twice as long and include the rest of Four Continents, but this past weekend, I was tragically struck down by a vicious cold that replaced my drive to write with a desire to sleep 14 hours a day and blow my nose a lot. So in the interest of posting something this week, I decided to edit and post what I had written before getting sick. Next up: more plot, Four Continents, and maybe Worlds!?!?


	5. Five

Yuuri opened the door to his and Phichit’s hotel room, crept inside, and carefully closed the door behind him.

A glance at Phichit’s bed confirmed he was still asleep.

Yuuri breathed out a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t have survived the onslaught of questions that Phichit would have launched at him if he’d caught Yuuri sneaking back into their hotel room before sunrise.

Yuuri’s gaze fell on his own bed. He knew he should take the opportunity to go back to sleep. Yuuri had to skate his short program this afternoon. He needed all the rest he could get. But Yuuri didn’t think he could sleep right now. Yuuri could still feel his blood rushing and his skin prickled with a restless, crackling energy.

 _A shower,_ Yuuri decided. _I should shower._ Maybe afterwards he would be settled enough to go back to sleep.

Stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him, Yuuri stripped out of his clothes. But as he moved to get into the shower, Yuuri caught sight of his reflection in the mirror out of the corner of his eye and nearly tripped in shock. He froze, staring at himself.

Yuuri was covered in marks.

The red-purple bruises started at the base of his throat and trailed down his chest. Finger-shaped marks decorated Yuuri’s hips and parallel lines of red scratches followed the curve of his waist. Light-purple bruises encircled his wrists, an echo of the silk that had bound them to the bed.

Yuuri swallowed thickly.

He should have been horrified. The marks should have felt like a transgression. He shouldn’t like the way they looked. But Yuuri did. The bruises looked like splashes of paint. Like adornment. It was as if Yuuri had been a blank canvas waiting to be claimed. He felt marked, owned. He felt _good_.

Unable to stop himself, Yuuri pressed down onto one of the bruises on his collarbone and shivered at the sweet ache. Yuuri watched his reflection as his hands mapped the path of bruises down his chest. He watched as his breathing sped up and his pupils dilated, black swallowing the brown of his irises. Yuuri’s fingers grazed his half-hard cock and he wrapped a hand around himself.

Yuuri’s eyes closed and instead of his own reflection, he saw Victor. And when Yuuri stroked, it was Victor’s hand he thought of. _So good, Yuuri. Perfect_ , Victor said and Yuuri whined. He wanted- he wanted Victor. Here. Now.

Yuuri went rigid.

He opened his eyes and was met with the sight of his reflection. Lithe, pale, and with messy black hair, it was just Yuuri. Yuuri alone.

Yuuri peeled his hands away from his body and gripped the edge of counter, knuckles turning white. He couldn’t keep doing this; he couldn’t keep fixating on Victor. Yuuri had to skate in a few hours. He had a competition to win, but instead of concentrating on that, Yuuri was daydreaming about Victor.

_Stupid._

It wasn’t sustainable. Yuuri had to stop. He had to focus, but right at this moment it felt impossible. Yuuri felt like he was a swinging compass and Victor was magnetic north. Like Yuuri was a ship about to capsize and Victor was an anchor. Yuuri needed-

 _No_ , Yuuri scolded himself. He couldn’t need Victor. He had to be stronger than that. Yuuri had to be better than the stereotype of a sub who was helpless without a dom

 _Do you need him as a dom or do you need him as Victor?_ whispered a voice in his head.

Yuuri shied away from it, locking the thought away, deep inside his mind. Dangerous. It was dangerous to think that way. It was why he’d left before Victor woke up - Yuuri wanted too much from Victor. He wanted more than was healthy for either of them

Shaking his head, Yuuri stepped into the shower. Under the warm spray, Yuuri scrubbed himself, quick and harsh, wishing he could erase the imprint of Victor on his skin.

 _I’m here to skate_ , Yuuri thought. _No more distractions._

* * *

**Taipei, Taiwan, February 7th** **  
** **Conclusion of the Men’s Free Skate**

After what felt like hours and thousands of blinding pictures, Yuuri and the other two medalists - JJ and Otabek Altin - were ushered off of the podium. Finally away from the scrutiny of the crowd, Yuuri traced the edge of his bronze medal with careful fingers. It was his second championship medal and Yuuri could barely believe he deserved it. But he did. He’d _won_.

Fierce pride rushed through him and he clenched the medal in his hand, its edges digging into palm. It had taken years of injury, doubt, and pain, but Yuuri had made it through. Not unscathed, not whole, but he _had_ made it. Yuuri was finally skating the way he’d always believed he could. Yuuri felt like he was at last free to skate without the chains of his biology hobbling him. And it would never have happened without Victor.

 _Victor_.

Yuuri wanted to see him. He wanted to show Victor his medal, to share his triumph with him, to watch Victor’s eyes light up with warm pride like they had in Sochi. Yuuri had been fighting thoughts of Victor - as well as the constant itch to seek him out, to scan each crowd for a head a silver hair - for the past two days. But now the competition was over, and Yuuri let himself think about Victor again.

Yuuri wanted to go to him.

He knew he shouldn’t. Yuuri had gotten what he’d needed from Victor - subspace. He shouldn’t need this too. Yuuri shouldn’t need to _be_ with him. He had no right to demand more from Victor. It was a wild, reckless flame inside of him, this need to be close to Victor. And Yuuri knew if he wasn’t careful, it would burn him from the inside out.

Inside the elevator, Yuuri hesitated. His finger hovered between the button for his floor and the button for Victor’s. The doors began to close and Yuuri threw caution to wind.

Yuuri was sore, sweaty, and exhausted. His adrenaline rush from skating and winning was fading fast and Yuuri had begun to crash. But he didn’t want a shower or his bed. No. All Yuuri wanted was Victor’s hand in his hair as he knelt, Yuuri’s forehead pressed to Victor’s hip as Victor whispered soft words of praise. Yuuri was tired of fighting the need; sick of reminding himself why Victor was a bad idea.

Yuuri pressed the button for the ninth floor.

When the elevator stopped and the doors slid open, Yuuri didn’t pause to second-guess himself. He strode out and down the hall to room 968. Yuuri raised a hand to knock but noticed the door was ajar. Pressing his hand against the door, Yuuri pushed it open.

A short, slim woman dressed in the hotel’s maid uniform looked up from where she was tucking in the corners of the just-made bed. She said something in Mandarin and Yuuri blinked, his eyes scanning the room.

There was no sign of Victor. No suitcase in the corner, no phone and charger on the bedside table, no towel hung on the bathroom door. Indeed, the room looked freshly turned over and ready for a new occupant.

Dread washed through Yuuri. “The guest that was here, did he check out?” he asked.

The maid nodded. “Yes. He check out yesterday morning,” she said in accented English.

“Did he… leave anything?” Yuuri asked, hope burning bright for a moment. Maybe Victor had left a note-

“Leave?” she said, shaking her head. “No, no leave.”

“Okay. T-thank you,” Yuuri stuttered out before beating a hasty retreat out of the room. Victor had left. Not only that, he’d left before the men’s short program. He’d left without seeing anyone skate. He’d left without seeing _Yuuri_ skate. Yuuri’s breath felt stuck in his chest and his stomach hurt, his insides clenching and twisting.

Yuuri made his way down the hallway in a daze until he stood in front of the elevators once more. He was about to press the down button when Yuuri realized he couldn’t go back to his room. Phichit was there and Yuuri needed a moment alone to think and process. He veered to the side and opened the door to the little-used hotel stairway. As the door banged closed behind him, Yuuri sank down onto the concrete steps and put his head in between his knees, struggling to control his erratic heartbeat.

Why had Victor left? He’d originally been planning to stay for the entire competition. The only thing that had happened between Victor arriving and leaving was Yuuri asking him to scene. The realization dawned on Yuuri slowly. Victor had left right after- well, he’d left right after _Yuuri_ had left.

Yuuri squeezed his eyes closed. He thought about how he would have felt if he’d been in Victor’s place, the one who had woken up alone after a scene. He would have felt used.

Oh god. That was what Yuuri had done. He’d _used_ Victor. He’d asked Victor to help him, and then once Yuuri had gotten what he needed - subspace - he had left, sparing no thought for what Victor might need.

Obviously, Victor didn’t feel about Yuuri the way Yuuri felt about him, but he had scened with Yuuri twice, helping him when he’d had no obligation to do so. And then there was Victor’s actions after the GPF - the photo together, his many questions about Yuuri, the way he’d instinctively grounded Yuuri during the press conference. Yuuri had been so caught up in his own head that he hadn’t given Victor’s actions a second thought. He’d thought it was just Victor being Victor. But was it possible Chris had been right? That Victor… cared about Yuuri in some capacity? That he wanted them to friends?

Yuuri felt like he might throw up.

If Victor did want them to be friends, then Yuuri sneaking out and leaving behind a two-word note after their scene must have seemed like Yuuri was throwing that offer of friendship back in Victor’s face. The thought that Yuuri might have hurt Victor made Yuuri feel like his heart had been ripped out of his chest.

Yuuri should have had stayed. They would have woken up together and Yuuri would have told Victor how perfect their scene had been. He would have told Victor how he’d been everything Yuuri had needed in a dom. That was the proper etiquette and what a good sub would have done. Hell, that was what a good person would have done.

Yuuri tasted salt on his lips and angrily wiped at his wet cheeks, chasing away the tear tracks. He’d fucked this up badly. Which wasn’t surprising because that was what Yuuri did best (fuck things up), but it was likely he’d broken his fledgling relationship with Victor beyond repair.

Maybe Victor hated him now.

The thought was painful, like a shard of cold ice lodged in his lungs making him struggle for breaths. Yuuri had to do something. He had to fix this somehow. Worlds. In a little over a month, he would see Victor at Worlds. Yuuri had until then to figure out how to make this right.

* * *

**Detroit, Michigan, February to March** **  
** **The Road to Worlds**

The weeks leading up to Worlds made the time between Nationals and Four Continents seem like a pleasant vacation. Celestino was determined to turn the momentum of Yuuri’s Four Continents win into a medal at Worlds and as a result, Yuuri’s practice schedule was grueling.

During the day, Yuuri spent countless hours at the rink, refining and perfecting his routines. And at night, Yuuri came home, weary and bruised, and thought about Victor.

He didn’t know what to do. The conviction Yuuri had felt about Victor being hurt and angry had faded in the weeks since Four Continents. Perhaps Victor was just indifferent to him. Maybe Victor didn’t care about Yuuri at all and had left because of some emergency back in Russia. The uncertainty ate away at Yuuri, making him toss and turn in his bed at night as sleep eluded him. The fortnight it took for Victor’s marks on his body to fade didn’t help.

Worlds. It all came down to Worlds. When Yuuri saw Victor in person, he would be able to tell how Victor felt about him.

Now all Yuuri had to do was figure out how _he_ felt about  _Victor._

Perfect. Easy. It wasn’t like Yuuri had been trying - and failing - to answer that question for the past three months or anything.

* * *

Two weeks before Worlds, Victor trended on twitter.

Phichit was the one who told Yuuri. They were both at home, lounging in the living room after a long day on the ice. Yuuri was watching the Great British Bake Off. He wasn’t allowed to eat anything fun during competition season, but at least Yuuri could live vicariously through cooking shows. Phichit lay half off of the couch, nearly upside down, with his phone held inches from his face as he scrolled through various social media accounts.

“Yo, Yuuri,” Phichit called out. “Your boy is trending on Twitter.”

“My what?” Yuuri asked, only half listening to Phichit. His attention was focused on the contestant on screen who was lovingly icing a triple chocolate cake. God, Yuuri missed cake.

Phichit kicked Yuuri lightly in the side. “Yuuri!”

Yuuri tore his gaze from the frankly pornographic strawberry and cream filled cake another contestant had constructed and focused on Phichit. “Yeah?”

“Victor’s trending on Twitter.”

Yuuri bit his lip. “Oh.”

“‘Oh?’ Is that all? Normal Yuuri would be whipping out his phone and frantically checking Twitter. Hell, normal Yuuri’s google alert for Victor should have gone off hours ago.” Phichit narrowed his eyes. “Who are you and what have you done to my best friend?” he asked, prodding Yuuri in the stomach with his toes.

Yuuri shoved Phichit’s foot away. “Actually, I deleted my Victor google alert.”

Phichit gasped, pressing his hand to his chest. “Oh. My. God. Now I really am worried. Why?”

Yuuri looked down, his fingers twisting in the blanket in his lap. “I just- it seemed… weird to keep it after we’d met.”

Yuuri hoped Phichit would buy that excuse because there was no way Yuuri could tell him the real reason. _Actually Phichit, I deleted my google alert and haven’t been on social media in weeks because the last time I saw Victor, he tied me to his bed, gave me a mind-numbingly hot orgasm, and proved he's probably the only dom who can put me in subspace… and I have no idea how to deal with any of that so I’ve been avoiding it instead._ Yuuri still hadn't told Phichit what had happened between him and Victor, and now, weeks later, it seemed too late; the secret too large and heavy to share.

Phichit straightened up and gave Yuuri an intense look. “Your google alert seemed… ‘weird,’ but the multiple Victor posters in your room are fine?”

Yuuri winced. Goddamn. He knew he should have caved and taken those posters down months ago after Sochi. “Yes?”

“Okay,” Phichit said, drawing out the last syllable. “If you say so, Yuuri. But since you're behind the times, I guess I have the honor of being your Victor news delivery system!” he exclaimed, grinning as he waved his phone with a flourish.

Yuuri couldn’t see a way out of this, not without making Phichit more suspicious than he already was. “Go ahead,” Yuuri said, his stomach in knots. Yuuri couldn't tell if he was nervous, excited, or some nauseating combination of both. He picked up his mug of tea from the table and took a sip to steady himself.

Phichit tapped on his phone and after a moment started reading. “Victor Nikiforov: dating once more? It's been years since the Olympic gold medalist, model, dom, and notorious bachelor has been linked with a romantic interest. But in the past weeks, Nikiforov has made a splash by frequenting several well-known St. Petersburg clubs - and getting close with subs in each. According to sources, Nikiforov has thus far been seen with multiple different subs. However, if Nikiforov is finally serious about finding that special someone, we predict he won't be single - and playing the field - for much longer!”

Yuuri startled so badly that the contents of his mug sloshed over the side, soaking his t-shirt with hot tea. Yuuri let out a yelp and sprang to his feet, quickly pulling the sodden material of his away from his skin.

“Yuuri! Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah, Phichit. I’m fine,” Yuuri said, setting his mug down on the coffee table with trembling hands. “I think I’m going to go take a shower though. I don’t want to spend the rest of the night smelling like tea.”

“Alright,” Phichit said, his brows creased in concern.

Yuuri mustered up a weak smile for Phichit before turning on his heel and hurrying down the hall and into the bathroom. Yuuri locked the door behind him and turned on the shower, hoping the running water would convince Phichit that everything was fine. He then closed the lid of the toilet, sat down on top of it, and pulled out his phone.

His fingers still shaking, it took Yuuri a few moments longer than usual to open his phone and navigate to Twitter. But when he did, there it was, trending: “ _Victor Nikiforov._ ”

Yuuri clicked on the first article that popped up underneath Victor’s name and scanned through it.

There wasn’t much more information in it beyond what Phichit had already told him, but at the bottom of article were a series of tweets. Sources, apparently. Yuuri’s stomach churned as he read the first one. And then, because Yuuri couldn’t help himself, he clicked on the link

The picture wasn’t anything shocking - just Victor leaning against a bar in a dimly-lit club and pressed close to a petite, dark-haired man. But the longer Yuuri looked, the more he noticed the details like the smile on Victor’s lips and the way his hand was curled around dark-haired man’s hip, his fingers splayed in a proprietary grip.

An ugly, dark emotion ripped through Yuuri. It felt like a molten bade to the gut and the pain stole the air from his lungs and brought stinging tears to his eyes. Hurt, jealousy, and anger swirled in him and Yuuri tried to control it, to rein in his feelings. He knew he was being irrational. Victor didn’t owe him anything. But Yuuri couldn’t seem to stop his body from wanting and his senses from screaming that Victor was his - _Yuuri’s_ dom - and not available to some random sub in Russia.

Yuuri clicked off his phone and threw it on the counter, where it skidded before clattering to a stop. God, he was such an idiot. He knew Victor had only scened with him because Yuuri had asked. He knew Victor hadn’t meant any of the things he’d said - how Yuuri was _beautiful_ and _perfect_ \- that he’d only said them because Yuuri had needed to hear them. But sparked by their scene and Victor’s sudden departure from Four Continents (and then buried deep inside of Yuuri) had been the smallest, tremulous hope that Victor might want him.

 _Stupid_ , Yuuri berated himself. Of course Victor didn’t want him. Victor was amazing and lovely - as close to being a perfect dom as it was possible to get. And Yuuri was a mess. A disaster of a sub.

Oh god. Maybe the reason Victor had left so abruptly after their scene was because it had been terrible. What if Victor had realized there was something wrong with Yuuri? That he had no idea how to scene because he’d never done so successfully before Victor?

Yuuri shuddered, his doubt and self-recrimination a rising tide that threatened to drown him. Yuuri fought against it, against the darkening of his vision, as he took great big gasping breaths. No. He couldn’t fall apart. Not now. Not this close to Worlds.

Long seconds ticked by and gradually, Yuuri brought himself back together. And after a few minutes more, Yuuri felt steady enough to stand, strip out his damp clothes, and step into the shower. The warm water eased some of the tightness in his muscles and Yuuri’s heart rate began to slow.

Yuuri would never be Victor’s sub. That much was obvious. And maybe- maybe it was for the best.

* * *

That night, Yuuri slept well for the first time in weeks. He woke up ready and eager to get to the rink. And as Yuuri glided out onto fresh, smooth ice, he felt the jagged edges inside of him settle. Skating had always been his solace, the ice there for him when nothing else was, and Yuuri threw himself into practicing, his mind completely focused on the upcoming competition.

Celestino watched him, his eyes glittering and his mouth curved into a proud smile. “Good,” he said at the end of the day. “Almost perfect.”

Yuuri nodded. _Almost_. He was almost there. More than ever, Yuuri felt the desire to win burning bright inside of him. And this time, he was determined to do it on his own, without the crutch of entering subspace before skating.

* * *

**London, Ontario, Canada, March 16th** **  
** **Men’s Free Skate, World Figure Skating Championship**

Yuuri watched Victor glide out to the middle of ice. As usual, Victor had placed first in the short program and so was skating last in the free skate.

Yuuri had already skated. He’d been in fourth place after the short program and his free skate had gone well, Yuuri’s determination and hard work of the past months paying off and earning him a score good enough to boost him to first place. And somehow, the skaters between him and Victor hadn’t scored high enough to knock him down to second or third. With only Victor left to skate, Yuuri still held the top spot on the scoreboard. Victor would win gold (of that, Yuuri had no doubt) but Yuuri- Yuuri would win silver. At Worlds. The knowledge was like the sunrise inside of him, warm and golden.

Queen’s “Somebody to Love” began to play and Victor started to skate.

Yuuri frowned, tilting his head as he watched Victor. Victor’s skating was as graceful and exquisite as always, but something was different. The last time Yuuri had seen Victor skate this program, the emotion behind it had been wistful, verging on hopeful. But watching Victor skate it now, all Yuuri felt from him was an overwhelming sadness. It was still beautiful - and even more evocative than it had been at the GPF - but Yuuri wondered what had spurred the change in tone.

Victor finished his program to thunderous applause and within minutes, he received his scores. As Yuuri had known it would, Victor’s free skate score secured him first place overall.

The announcers spoke over the roar of the crowd. “Finishing in first place with his fifth consecutive World Championship gold is Viktor Nikiforov. In second place is Yuuri Katsuki. This is Katsuki’s first World Championship medal and quite the end to a surprising season for Japan’s Ace. And winning bronze is last year’s silver medalist, Christophe Giacometti!”

Yuuri smiled.

* * *

Yuuri stood on the podium with his silver medal around his neck as camera flashes and cheers reverberated through the arena. And like at the GPF, Victor was right next to him, mere feet away on the podium. But unlike last time, Victor was silent as he waved to the crowd. No congratulations. No gentle teasing. No grin just for Yuuri.

His heart pounding, Yuuri mustered up his courage. “Congratulations, Victor,” he said, giving Victor a small smile. Yuuri watched Victor’s shoulders stiffen and for a moment, he thought Victor might ignore him. But then Victor turned towards him. A beat of silence and Yuuri forced himself not to break eye contact, his breath caught in his throat.

“Thank you, Yuuri,” Victor said, before turning back to face the crowd.

Yuuri’s stomach sank.

Apparently that was it. That was all he would get from Victor.

From the other side of the podium, Yuuri could see Chris’s gaze darting between Victor and Yuuri, his expression concerned and sympathetic.

Yuuri hated it. He hated the awkwardness and silence between him and Victor. He hated the pity in Chris’s gaze. And most of all, Yuuri hated that even though he was standing on the podium after having won second place at Worlds, he still felt hollow and empty inside - all his joy from earlier gone, vanishing the moment he’d seen the fake, stilted smile Victor had directed at him.

* * *

Hours later, Yuuri stood in the hallway outside the locker room, leaning against the wall and anxiously twisting the strap of his bag in his hands as he waited for Victor to emerge. Chris had already left, departing with a whispered “good luck” to Yuuri. Yuuri knew he would need it to get through the conversation he was about to have.

Yuuri had made it through the rest of the medal ceremony and the press conference with Victor’s polite, distant smile as his companion. Victor had treated Yuuri like he was stranger. Yuuri supposed he deserved it after everything he’d done.

At long last, the locker room door opened and Victor stepped out into the hallway. Catching sight of Yuuri leaning against the wall opposite the door, Victor froze for a moment before continuing down the hall.

Yuuri’s heart sped up. It was now or never. If Yuuri let Victor walk away now without trying to fix things between them, he knew it would be the end of this, of them, of whatever they were.

 _Whatever they were_.

Yuuri bit his lip. No. He knew what he and Victor were. Or rather, he knew the only thing they could be - friends. Because if Yuuri continued to scene with Victor, he would lose him. Yuuri didn’t know how it would happen, but he knew that it would. After all, the reason everything between them was so messy and tangled right now was because Yuuri had asked Victor to scene with him. But if Yuuri was willing to let that part of their relationship go (if he was willing to let his only way of getting to subspace naturally go), then maybe he could salvage a friendship with Victor.

Yuuri would never be Victor’s sub, but they could still be something. Friends. At least Yuuri would have Victor in his life. And wasn’t that what he really wanted? After nearly a decade of dreaming and imagining Victor, he was here, just a few feet away. Yuuri looked at Victor’s retreating back and made his decision. It was easy. Yuuri ran after him.

“Victor,” he called out. “Wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri’s internal monologue: “If I had to use one word to describe the way Victor tied me up and gave me the best orgasm of my life it would be platonic.”
> 
> Sorry this is like months overdue!!! I just recently got a new job and that combined with the holidays left me with very little time to write. Hopefully I’ll be back on a more regular posting schedule going forward! I’m already hard at work on the next chapter which is basically entirely Victor & Yuuri. Also, just as an FYI, while I don’t have a firm final chapter count, I think this fic will probably end up being around 12-15 chapters??? So we’re nowhere near the end, haha. 
> 
> P.S. I finally made a sideblog on tumblr for YOI stuff. Come say hi [@crowned-and-laurelled](https://crowned-and-laureled.tumblr.com/) and reblog the post for [this fic](https://crowned-and-laureled.tumblr.com/post/182184290850/broken-like-me-by-crownoflaurels-words-23k) if you’re enjoying it!


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